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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP 


NEIGHBORHOOD   STORY  NUMBER    TWO 


BY 


MRS.  A.  D.  T.  WHITNEY 

AUTHOR  OF  "FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD,''  "THE  GAYWORTHYS," 

THE  "  REAL  FOLKS  "  SERIES,  "  ODD,  OR  EVEN," 

"ASCUTNEY  STREET,"  BTC. 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

(€&e  fuUcrsiDr  Press, 
1892 


Copyright,  1892, 
BY  ADELINE  D.  T.  WHITNEY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghtou  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAFTEB  PAGE 

I.   WILD  CLOVER 1 

II.  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING  CALLS          .        .        21 

HI.  IN  THE  ORCHARD 38 

IV.   "  INTRODUCE  ME  " .50 

V.   "  Now  YOU  KNOW  " 56 

VI.   ANOTHER  INTRODUCTION 69 

VII.   WHEAT-SEED  AND  TARE-SEED         .        .        .        .77 

VIII.   THE  POND  LILY  ROOM 87 

IX.   KEEN  DEFINITIONS 98 

X.   FOLKS  AND  "CREETURS" 115 

XI.  SHEPAUG 134 

XII.  "MAY  I  TELL  YOU  SOMETHING?"      .        .        .162 

XIII.  "THAT'S  WHAT  I'M  A  SPINSTER  FOR"         .        .  179 

XIV.  AUTUMN  ROSES 192 

XV.   BREAKS  AND  JOINS 198 

XVI.  KARMA   .        .       ' 206 

XVII.  "You  MAY,  MY  CHILD" 214 

XVIII.  HORIZONS 220 

XIX.  THE  HAPPY  HOUSETOP 227 

XX.  THE  MOON  OF  HALLOWEEN         ....      238 

XXI.  FINE  WINTRY  COLD 247 

XXII.  Two  LETTERS 258 

XXIII.  RILL'S  RUBICON  .  269 


1694440 


IV  CONTENTS. 

XXIV.  EXACTLY  LIKE  MBS.  REXTELL           .        .        .      279 

XXV.   THE  TELEGRAM 288 

XXVI.   "  THE  BENEV'." 298 

XXVII.  MAISON  DE  LA  SAINTE  ESPERANCE      .        .        .  302 

XXVIII.   NUMBER TY-Two  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET      313 

XXIX.   LIFE  is  NEVER  OVER 319 

XXX.  AT  THE  CEDARS         ......      325 

XXXI.   "MOTHER" 335 

XXXII.    CONNIE'S  ASTONISHMENT 341 

XXXIII.  "  OUGHT  I  ?  "                                  ....  346 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WILD    CLOVER. 

MR.  EPHRAIM  CROOKE  built  his  house  in  the 
crook  of  the  road. 

His  farm  lay  both  ways,  at  right  angles.  One 
line  of  the  country  street  runs  straight  down  to  the 
Point,  where  the  little  Wewachet  meets  the  She- 
paug,  and  they  broaden  down  together  toward  the 
sea,  —  where  the  last  creep  of  the  tide  comes  up  and 
there  is  a  touch  of  salt  in  the  water  ;  where  the 
coal  and  lumber  barges  moor  at  the  wharf;  and 
behind  are  the  bridge  and  the  old  village,  with  the 
street  of  shops,  and  the  railway  station  and  the 
town  hall.  In  the  other  direction  from  Crooke 
Corner,  the  highway  takes  its  southern  bend,  then 
winds  and  sheers  off  again  toward  the  meeting 
houses  and  the  Centre,  and  beyond  that  to  the  hills 
and  pasture  sides  of  Shepaug. 

The  Crooke  house,  in  its  two  portions,  was  faced 


2  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

upon  these  lines  ;  its  front  windows  looked  along 
both  of  them.  In  a  sense,  they  squinted.  In  this 
way  the  inmates  got  a  squint,  so  to  speak,  at  al 
most  everything  that  moved  about,  and  it  was  an 
invitation  to  the  passers-by,  both  up  and  down,  so 
that  the  Crooke  women-folk  caught  as  in  a  weir 
all  that  floated  of  news  or  events ;  it  all  came  in 
with  the  frequent  callers  who  made  this  a  half-way 
stop  between  the  Point  village  and  the  "  up-street  " 
neighborhoods. 

"  You  always  get  it,  good  or  bad,"  cousin  Eliza 
beth  said  once,  with  a  touch  of  meaning  that  her 
hearers,  not  quite  comprehending,  were  instantly 
suspicious  of. 

She  was  there  on  a  visit,  and  a  knot  of  droppers- 
in  had  just  gone,  leaving  a  lot  of  conversational 
drift  stuff  to  be  sorted  over  in  after-discussion 
with  the  kind  of  ruminant  felicity  a  certain  class 
of  animals  is  privileged  to  enjoy. 

"  It 's  a  right-down  gossip  corner,"  Miss  Eliza 
beth  had  added,  good-humored ly  enough  ;  but  the 
very  good-humor  pointed  a  rebuke  with  its  gentle 
ness. 

"  Well,  why  should  n't  things  gether  in  a  cor 
ner?"  demanded  Miss  Sarah  Crooke.  "  The  snow 
drifts  up  here,  and  the  dead  leaves,  when  the  wind 
blows.  Why  shouldn't  the  news?  We  ain't  to 
blame." 


WILD   CLOVER.  3 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  rake  out  and  shovel  up  a 
little  ?  " 

"  'Cause  we  ain't  set  here  on  a  selery  to  do  the 
job,"  shrilled  old  Eplu-aim  from  the  stove  side, 
with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

Old  Ephraim  was  not  much  of  a  chatterbox  him 
self,  but  he  had  certain  mechanical,  habitual  ways 
of  setting  the  chatter  going  and  keeping  it  up 
around  him.  They  all  knew  he  liked  it  and  ex 
pected  it.  It  chirped  him  up,  his  wife  said. 

Old  Mrs.  Crooke  knitted  round  after  round  on 
a  gray  stocking,  without  opening  her  lips.  She 
did  not  hear  it  all,  and  besides,  she  "hated  dif- 
ferin'  an'  contradickshin."  For  that  reason,  and 
because  of  the  entertainment  of  the  other  two,  the 
gossips  had  their  own  way  in  her  sitting  -  room, 
saying  this  and  that  of  everybody,  even  when  old 
lady  Crooke  did  hear  and  knew  better.  "  Father 
wanted  to  find  out  what  was  going.  He  had  n't 
much  to  think  of,  and  Sarah  liked  company.  She 
could  n't  get  out  herself ;  things  had  to  come  to 
her,  and  it  was  a  poverdunce  they  did."  That  was 
her  gentle  sufferance  and  excuse. 

Sarah  had  a  lameness  in  her  hip ;  a  good  deal, 
indeed,  was  to  be  allowed  for  such  a  hindering  in 
firmity.  She  made  up  for  it  with  the  agility  of 
another  little  member,  not  meaning  any  harm,  nor 
ever  realizing  that  she  could  travel  farther,  on 


4  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

errand  good  or  ill,  in  that  fashion,  than  she  could 
have  done  on  her  two  feet. 

The  day  came  when  things  changed  at  Crooke 
Corner.  Old  Ephraim  died. 

One  sunny  afternoon  in  April  the  elbow  of  the 
road  was  filled  with  all  sorts  of  carriages  ;  the  one 
in  which  no  creature  rides  but  once  drawn  up  in 
gloomy  importance  by  the  gate  side. 

The  prayers  were  over,  and  the  close  knot  of 
men  about  the  door  was  broken  up.  People  inside 
waited  with  deferent  curiosity  to  see  the  mourners 
pass. 

The  bearing  forth  was  accomplished,  the  single 
carriage  was  closed  upon  its  occupant  and  crept 
away  solemnly  under  the  maples  to  halt  beyond, 
while  the  living  entered  in  turn  their  more  cheerful 
vehicles.  Foot  passengers,  who  did  not  expect  to 
"follow,"  departed  slowly  each  way,  up  and  down 
the  road. 

Two  women  talked  as  they  walked  along. 

"  Don't  seem  to  me  f un'ruls  is  so  solumn  or  im- 
provin  's  they  used  to  be,"  said  one. 

"  Been  to  so  many  of  'em,"  said  the  other ; 
"  got  used  to  'em." 

"  Well,  I  dun  know.  Live  folks  seem  to  get 
the  upper  hand  of  it,  nowadays,  somehow.  The'  's 
only  one  dead  one,  you  see,  'gainst  'em  all ;  an' 
the'  've  all  got  their  minds  stirrin'  full  o'  somethin'. 


WILD   CLOVER.  5 

Folks  is  'live,  an'  the  times  is  hurryin',  and  they 
don't  skeercely  put  it  aside,  more  '11  while  the 
prayers  last,  anyhow.  Sometimes  I  kind  o'  think 
whether  no  they  don't  feel  a  little  bit  smart  to 
be  alive,  an'  walkin'  off,  speshully  them  that 's 
pooty  nigh  o'  the  same  age.  There  they  go,  like 
a  parcel  o'  bees  in  a  meddar,  every  one  their  own 
way,  after  their  own  honey.  An'  there  goes  old 
Iffrum  Crooke,  ridin'  away  alone,  toes  up." 

"  'Randy  Sowle  did  n't  mind  wearin'  her  new 
bunnit," 

"  No ;  did  look  ruther  airy.  But  then  folks 
don't  dress  accordin',  as  they  used  to,  not  even  the 
mourners.  'Lizbuth  Haven  did  n't  have  on  a  sin 
gle  stitch  o'  real  black.  Black  silk  gown  's  nothin' ; 
an'  there  was  little  white  flowers  in  the  black  lace 
on  her  bunnit." 

"  She  's  only  Mis'  Crooke's  niece.  Wonder 
what  they  '11  do  now  !  Them  two  women  all  alone 
is  pooty  solitary.  Don't  see  how  they  '11  manage, 
hardly.  Old  Iffrum  used  to  shuffle  round  an'  see 
to  wood,  an'  water  an'  milk  the  cows ;  an'  I  guess, 
off'n  's  not,  wash  the  pans  an'  cans.  It  '11  make  a 
change,  more  or  less." 

It  made  two  changes,  one  of  which  might  have 
been  easily  anticipated  ;  the  other  nobody  reckoned 
on.  The  Crookes  hired  a  woman  and  a  boy,  and 
were  better  off  than  old  Ephraim  would  ever  have 


6  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

thought  they  needed  to  be.     And  Miss  Elizabeth 
Haven  came  to  board  at  the  Corner. 

People  wondered,  greatly  relishing-  the  sensation, 
that  Miss  Haven  should  leave  her  beautiful  city 
rooms,  where  she  had  everything  to  her  mind  and 
was  in  the  middle  of  everything,  to  come  out  here 
and  fix  up  the  old  east  wing  and  live  a  mile  from 
the  cars  with  deaf  Ma'am  Crooke  and  lame  Sarah. 
But  she  had  her  reasons,  which  had  been  maturing 
for  some  time  against  such  possibility  of  acting 
upon  them  as  might  occur,  and  now  this  had  oc 
curred.  She  wanted  country  air,  —  breath,  both 
bodily  and  spiritual.  And  she  wanted  to  brighten 
somebody's  life,  apart  from  associated  charities, 
which  she  found  generalizing  and  depressing.  Be 
side  these  facts,  there  was  another  in  the  shape 
of  a  stiident  at  the  neighboring  law-school,  young 
Putnam  King,  whose  mother  had  been  Grace 
Haven,  Elizabeth's  beautiful  sister,  who  died  when 
Putnam  was  a  baby.  His  father  had  married 
again,  and  there  was  not  only  a  kind,  sensible  step 
mother,  but  there  had  come  a  whole  houseful  of 
young  brothers  and  sisters,  so  that  Putnam  had  not 
devolved  upon  aunt  Elizabeth's  care  or  her  affec 
tion,  as  left  destitute  of  either.  Neither  did  the 
wise  lady  believe  in  any  once-removed  guardian 
ship,  however  tender,  whjle  real  home  ties  and  place 
remained.  But  she  loved  the  boy,  and  he  loved 


WILD   CLOVER.  7 

her  as  boys  do,  with  a  good  deal  of  mischief  and 
bravado  covering  the  feeling,  and  some  looking-for 
of  auntly  indulgence  mixed  up  with  it. 

In  these  years  of  his  absence  from  home  for  his 
university  training,  aunt  Elizabeth's  rooms  had 
been  pleasant  to  go  to ;  and  as  the  time  went 
on  and  his  future  course  determined  itself  and  in 
volved  his  remaining  in  the  great  city,  she  thought 
of  how  good  a  thing  it  would  be  to  establish 
herself  a  little  way  out  of  it,  far  enough  for  a 
thorough  escape,  and  yet  where  he  might  come  to 
her  for  Sundays  and  holidays,  into  the  sweet  air 
clean  from  woods  and  pastures  ;  that  this  would  be 
better  for  him  than  the  droppings-in  in  town,  which 
were  no  change  or  renewal  at  all.  She  believed 
in  baptisms,  and  that  the  truth  of  them  was  at  the 
very  heart  of  created  things. 

Putnam  King  demurred  when  she  told  him. 

"  You  won't  like  it,"  he  said.  "  You  don't 
know  country  people.  They  '11  price  your  gowns 
and  calculate  your  '  means,'  and  they  '11  watch  your 
goings  out  and  your  comings  in  from  this  time 
forth,  forevermore." 

"  Putnam  I  " 

"  They  will,"  rejoined  Putnam,  calmly.  "  They  '11 
know  all  your  doings  before  they  're  done  and  all 
your  thoughts  before  you  think  'em,  and  they 
will  mention  to  you  any  little  circumstance  or 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

change  of  your  own  as  if  it  might  be  the  first  you  'd 
ever  heard  of  it.  'You've  got  a  new  bonnet, ' 
'  you  've  lost  a  tooth,  have  n't  yer  ?  '  or, '  you  're  a 
little  grayer  than  you  was  last  year,  aint  yer  ? ' 
Oh,  I  know.  They  do  down  at  Pluxtable.  I  don't 
dare  to  have  my  hair  cut  there.  '  Hadger  hair  cut  ?  ' 
Every  man,  woman  and  child  I  met  observed  that 
to  me  one  day.  I  fled  to  the  garden  and  the 
barn,  and  the  hens  began  it.  '  Hatcher  ha'  cut ! 
Hatcher  ha'  cut !  '  Cher  ha'  cut,  cut,  cut,  hatcher 
ha'  cut ! '  Everybody's  affairs  are  forever  in  the 
air.  Everything  chatters  and  every  little  chatter 
is  heard.  It  is  the  constitution  of  things  in  the 
country.  There 's  no  good,  wholesome  din  of 
everybody  busy  at  once  to  hush  things  up.  Oh, 
you  '11  get  tired  of  it.  You  '11  wish  you  were  a 
trilobite." 

"  You  absurd  boy  !     But  I  've  a  nice  little  room 
for  you  there." 

"  I  sha'n't  come." 

"  You  will ;  when  you  open  your  windows,  it 's 
into  big  trees  full  of  birds." 

"I    told   you   so,"    said   Putnam.     "The    little 
birds  of  the  air  that  carry  the  matter." 

"  And    the    sunrise    comes    in    in    the    morning 
straight  across  from  the  bay." 

"  Yes  ;  everything  is  intrusive,  and  the  sun  and 
the  cows  and  the  hens  and  the  birds  hustle  you  out 


WILD   CLOVER.  9 

of  your  best  nap.  No,  aunt ;  brick  walls  are  more 
to  my  morning  mood,  thank  you." 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  get  rid  of  you." 

"  You  '11  get  rid  of  yourself.  You  '11  be  pecked 
into  bits  and  you  '11  never  be  able  to  identify  the 
pieces ;  you  '11  never  be  a  consistent  entity  any 
more." 

"  You  '11  come  to  look  after  your  own  prophecy." 

When  Putnam  King  did  come,  and  saw  Sarah 
Crooke  and  the  old  lady,  his  wonder  and  misdoubt 
were  at  first  the  greater.  But  aunt  Elizabeth's 
rooms  were  like  herself,  more  like  her  than  ever, 
with  more  space  and  freedom  and  sweetness  to  be ; 
and  she  was  there,  the  same  beautiful,  consistent 
entity  as  ever.  And  the  fact  accomplished  was  a 
thing  fit,  on  that  side  of  the  house,  at  least. 

Putnam  acknowledged  it,  so  far.  "  But  it 's  only 
a  question  of  time,"  he  said.  "  You  '11  have  to  live 
on  yourself,  even  if  the  old  maids  don't  eat  you 
up."  He  sat  at  the  front  window  of  Miss  Haven's 
pretty  upstairs  library,  swinging  the  gray  tassel  of 
her  new  holland  blind  to  and  fro,  looking  idly  up 
along  the  road  as  he  spoke. 

Miss  Haven  laughed  in  a  very  jolly  way.  "  The 
other  old  maids  you  mean,  I  suppose.  But  we 
are  n't  all  old  maids.  There 's  the  minister,  and 
the  doctor,  and  the  doctor  's  wife  and  " 

But    Putnam    had    stopped    swinging   the    win- 


10  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

dow  tassel,  and  attending.  He  had  turned  away 
slightly,  leaning  forward  as  if  he  saw  something. 
He  drew  back  suddenly  into  the  shelter  of  the 
curtain.  "  Come  here,  aunt  Elizabeth.  Who  is 
this  ?  "  he  said. 

Just  beyond  the  front  corner  of  the  west  wing,  a 
young  girl  stood  upon  the  old  stone  wall.  She  had 
come  running  across  the  orchard  and  the  field ;  her 
hair  had  fallen  loose  and  she  had  her  hat  in  her 
hand.  Two  other  girls  came  along  the  street, 
laughing. 

"  Oh,  wait,  Sue !  Connie,  wait  a  minute  !  I  've 
got  away,  but  —  ah  !  " 

"  So  has  your  hair,  has  n't  it,  and  your  breath?  " 
said  one  of  the  newcomers,  teasingly.  "  Every 
thing  gets  away  with  you.  Here,  give  me  the  hat ; 
see  how  you  're  mashing  the  roses  !  "  for  the  girl  on 
the  wall,  with  her  last  impatient  ejaculation,  had 
thrust  her  headgear  under  her  elbow,  where  she 
held  it  anyhow,  struggling  with  a  hand  and  a  half 
and  one  long  pin  to  compress  and  fasten  into  a 
knot  again  a  flowing  mass  of  bonny  brown  locks 
with  all  the  obstreperousness  in  them  of  natural 
kinks  and  curls. 

"  There  !  if  it  don't  stay,  I  can't  help  it.  I  'in 
ready  !  "  and  she  was  jumping  down  from  her  perch 
upon  two  trim,  pretty  little  feet,  as  three  simulta 
neous  remarks  were  being  made  about  her  in  the 
old  Crooke  house. 


WILD   CLOVER.  11 

"  That 's  Rill  Raye,"  answered  aunt  Elizabeth. 
"  She  lives  on  the  North  Road  ;  she  's  just  like  her 
name,  and  as  little  to  be  hindered  or  quenched. 
And  hindering  and  quenching  are  all  that  is  tried 
upon  her,  I  'm  afraid." 

"  Now  what  prank  do  you  s'pose  that  Rill 
Raye  's  ready  for  ? "  came  up  in  Sarah  Crooke's 
sharp,  accusative  accents  from  the  west-side  room 
below.  Her  "  that  "  was  an  emphatically  demon 
strative  pronoun. 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  Speak  to  her,  stop  her, 
won't  you  ?  Ask  her  something  !  "  The  young 
man  in  the  corner  who  objected  theoretically  to 
the  sun  and  the  birds  and  everything  that  was  in 
trusive  urged  his  sudden,  eager  curiosity  upon 
aunt  Elizabeth,  holding  himself  well  out  of  sight 
as  he  besought  her  hurriedly. 

It  suited  aunt  Elizabeth's  own  further  purposes, 
and  she  did  speak  from  the  window.  She  had 
made  up  her  mind,  before  this,  to  be  friends  some 
how  with  Rill  Raye. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  Point,  to  the  library, 
Miss  Raye  ? "  she  asked  in  her  peculiarly  clear 
voice  that  needed  but  slight  raising  to  accomplish 
any  attemptable  distance.  "  Would  you  take  a 
book  for  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  with  pleasure !  "  came  Rill's  answer.  "  Shall 
I  come  in  for  it,  or  will  you  drop  it  down  ?  " 


12  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  Putnam  --  no,  I  '11  go  myself,"  said  Miss 
Haven  inside,  as  she  took  a  brown-covered,  red- 
labeled  volume  from  her  round  table,  and  has 
tened  with  it  to  the  stairs.  Putnam,  for  some 
momentary  preference  of  his  own,  sat  still  without 
remonstrance. 

Miss  Haven,  out  upon  the  bank,  held  a  brief 
colloquy  with  the  girl. 

"  You  said  you  had  '  got  away,'  "  she  began, 
pleasantly.  "  Is  there  anything  special  to  keep  you 
in  just  now  ?  All  is  well,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  only  there  's  always  aunt  Amelia, 
and  she  thinks  there  are  only  two  things  life  is  good 
for :  weekdays,  sew  seams ;  Sundays,  say  hymns. 
She  thinks  I  am  a  little  girl ;  she  will  never  be 
done  bringing  me  up,  and  I  can't  help  growing, 
that  's  all.  I  always  say  hymns  crooked,  Miss 
Haven.  Is  n't  it  funny  ?  " 

The  girls  at  the  fence  were  listening.  Rill 
knew  that,  and  it  spurred  her  on.  What  would 
have  been  the  effect  if  she  had  known  of  the  hid 
den  auditor  upstairs,  cannot  be  certainly  asserted  ; 
but,  doubtless,  she  had  a  comfortable  conviction 
that  behind  some  of  those  closed  blinds  there 
micrht  be  other  attentive  ears  which  she  had  no 

O 

objection  to  startle.     So  she  went  on  :  — 

"I  do  ;  there  's  a  tother  side  to  most  of  them. 
Perhaps  it  's  the  wrong  side,  but  I  don't  know 


WILD  CLOVER.  13 

always  ;  it  's  hard  to  tell  in  some  things.  I  turn 
them  over  in  my  mind  and  hold  them  up  to  the 
light  —  what  light  there  is  —  as  well  as  I  canvas 
aunt  Amelia  turns  new  cloth  to  see  which  is  the 
right  and  the  wrong  of  it ;  and  presently  I  can't 
tell  one  from  the  other  any  more  than  she  can. 
Do  you  remember  '  How  doth  the  little  busy  bee,' 
Miss  Haven?"  The  girl  looked  up  in  Miss 
Haven's  eyes  with  the  most  childlike  simplicity. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  returned  the  lady  with  a  twin 
kling  gravity. 

"  Well,  I  never  got  that  settled  yet,"  said  Kill 
Raye.  "  I  always  make  it  go  this  way  :  — 

'  That  wretched  little  busy  bee 

Spoils  every  pleasant  minute ; 
He  frets  each  opening  flower  to  see 
If  there  is  honey  in  it.' 

He  did  when  I  was  little,  and  he  does  now ;  and 
all  he  wants  is  to  lug  the  honey  off  and  leave 
the  poor  flower  without  any.  Why  should  n't  a 
flower  have  its  pretty,  innocent  blow-out  its  own 
way.  Miss  Haven  ?  There  would  n't  be  any  honey 
in  the  world  if  it  did  n't.  —  Yes,  I  'm  coming, 
girls.  I  was  only  explaining  to  Miss  Haven  that 
we  are  meadowsweet  and  white  clover  on  the  ram 
page.  —  I  '11  bring  you  back  another  book,  Miss 
Haven." 

There  was  something  very  winning  and  gracious 


14  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

in  Rill  Raye's  way  of  repeating  the  name  of  the 
person  to  whom  she  spoke,  if  an  elder ;  unless,  in 
deed,  it  happened  to  be  Miss  Crooke  or  one  of  her 
sort,  and  then  it  was  a  satire  simply  because  of  ob 
jective  absurdity.  The  manner  was  precisely  the 
same,  but  it  was  like  taking  off  your  hat  to  a 
donkey  or  dropping  a  courtesy  to  a  cow. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Cyrilla.  Miss  Homer  has 
my  list,"  returned  Miss  Haven,  walking  with  Rill 
the  few  steps  across  the  grass-plot  to  the  gate. 
"  May  I  just  say  something,  dear?  Some  of  the 
sweetest  flowers  don't  blow,  they  only  quietly 
bloom." 

The  girl's  eyes  had  something  suddenly  deeper 
in  them  as  she  looked  up  in  Miss  Haven's. 

"  When  they  grow  in  still,  nice,  sunshiny  places," 
she  said,  wistfully. 

"  They  grow  in  their  own  spots  where  they  are 
put,  and  they  make  them  beautiful.  They  do  not 
try  to  rush  about  or  transplant  themselves." 

"  But  they  reach  their  blossoms  through  the 
fences,  —  they  must  reach  somewhere." 

Rill  had  the  last  word ;  perhaps  it  was  wisdom 
in  Miss  Haven  that  she  left  it  with  her. 

When  she  came  back  and  stopped  with  the  book, 
Miss  Haven  met  her  as  before.  But  Cyrilla  was 
very  quiet  this  time,  and  she  looked  pale.  She 
handed  the  volume  over  the  gate  without  speaking. 


WILD  CLOVER.  15 

"  Has  anything-  happened  ?  Don't  you  feel  well  ? 
Come  in  a  minute,"  the  lady  said,  kindly. 

Cyrilla  shook  her  head.  "I  've  had  a  tooth 
pulled,  that  's  all,"  she  answered,  briefly,  and  with 
the  slight  facial  constraint  natural  to  the  circum 
stance.  I  '11  come  to-morrow,  —  may  I  ?  " 

There  was  an  appeal  in  the  word.  Miss  Haven 
laid  her  hand  on  Rill's  with  a  kind  pressure,  "  Do," 
she  said.  "  Come  any  time.  This  is  Dropping-in 
Corner,  you  know." 

Rill's  handkerchief  lightly  hid  her  mouth,  but 
her  eyes  smiled.  It  was  a  smile  with  a  pathos  in 
it.  "  I  'm  just  as  full  of  mischief  and  mistakes  as 
I  can  be,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  be  done  ever  so 
much  good  to,  but  "  —  and  the  flash  of  fun  came 
back  again  —  "I  don't  want  to  be  ame/iarated !  " 

"  There  's  the  making  of  a  splendid  woman  in 
that  girl,"  said  Miss  Haven,  coming  back  to  Put 
nam  King  in  her  bookroom.  "  She  has  been  follow 
ing  some  joke  or  daring  to  the  bitter  end.  She 
never  started  for  it,  I  am  sure." 

"  Started  for  what  ?  "  asked  Putnam.  "  What 
happened  to  her  to  wilt  her  down  so  ?  " 

"  She  had  a  tooth  pulled.  Dr.  Harriman  is  a 
young  D.  D.  S.  just  established  at  the  Point,  —  a 
handsome  man,  a  gentleman.  Some  nonsense  of 
those  other  girls,  and  Rill  Raye  has  paid  up  the 
cost  of  the  frolic.  I  feel  sure  of  it." 


18  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

pletons,  the  other  was  Miss  Rill  Rave.  She  is 
proud  and  quick;  she  found  out  she  was  in  the 
wrong  place  and  had  the  pluck  to  right  herself. 
One  of  the  simpletons  began.  She  wanted  to  let 
me  see  her  teeth,  she  said.  She  smiled,  and  showed 
a  very  pretty  row  of  them.  I  very  nearly  thanked 
her,  but  I  bowed,  and  waited  orders.  The  quick 
one  —  I  did  n't  know  her  name  then  —  saw  right 
through  me,  —  that  /  was  seeing  through,  and 
her  great  dark  eyes  flashed.  The  other  girl,  as 
innocent  as  you  please,  put  up  her  lip  with  her 
finger.  'Isn't  there  a  speck  there,  somewhere?' 
she  wanted  to  know.  I  did  n't  care  about  playing 
uncle  Toby,  but  I  had  to  look.  There  was  a  speck 
there ;  I  believe  she  had  stuck  it  on  herself.  A 
touch  with  a  probe  point  removed  it.  'I  do  not 
think  you  need  me,'  I  said.  *  Your  teeth  appear  to 
be  in  perfect  order.'  The  dark-eyed  one  caught 
the  emphasis,  and  flashed  again.  '  Is  this  all, 
young  ladies  ?  '  I  inquired,  taking  in  the  commit 
tee  of  three  that  had  been  requisite  for  this  mighty 
business.  '  No,  sir!"1  came  like  a  small  bombshell 
from  Miss  Raye.  '  I  wish  to  have  a  tooth  taken 
out.'  And  before  I  could  say  Ah  !  she  had  whipped 
her  hat  off  and  was  in  the  chair.  The  others  were 
staring.  One  made  a  little  shriek.  Miss  Raye 
twisted  herself  round.  '  If  you  mean  to  scream,' 
said  she,  '  please  go  away.  I  don't.'  Well,  the 


WILD  CLOVER.  19 

amount  of  it  was,  the  tooth  needed  to  come  out, 
though  she  had  n't  had  the  smallest  intention  that 
it  should,  up  to  the  instant.  Then  she  did  order 
me :  '  Pull  it,  doctor.  You  know  it  ought  to  be 
done  ;  I  was  told  to  have  it  out  a  year  ago.'  A 
very  slight  filling  would  have  preserved  it,  but  it 
was  an  irregularity  in  an  otherwise  fine  mouth,  and 
it  crowded  perniciously.  I  did  it,  that 's  all.'' 

"  I  see,"  returned  Miss  Haven.  "  Thank  you. 
I  like  to  have  the  story  from  its  root.  You  know, 
Dr.  Harriman,  how  a  little  thing  gets  circulated, 
and  takes  character  in  the  circulation.  I  live  at 
Crooke  Corner  ;  I  hear  most  things ;  and  I  take 
an  interest  in  Rill  Raye.  Good-morning  ;  perhaps 
you  will  find  it  in  your  way  some  time  to  call  in 
upon  an  old  friend  of  your  mother's?" 

Dr.  Harriman  bowed,  expressed  his  sense  of  the 
privilege  and  his  acceptance,  and  attended  her  to 
the  door,  returning  into  his  office  with  not  a  little 
enlightenment  as  to  the  social  trend  of  things  in 
Wewachet. 

Rill  Raye  told  her  aunt  Amelia  the  simple  fact 
that  she  had  had  the  tooth  drawn.  She  scorned 
concealment. 

Aunt  Amelia  uttered  a  sharp  "  H'm  !  "  She 
wondered  how  long  it  would  have  been  before  Rill 
would  have  made  up  her  mind  to  let  old  Dr.  Grap- 
leigh  do  it ;  blamed  her,  upon  sudden  recollection, 


20  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

as  the  girl  had  expected,  for  going  without  consult 
ing  herself,  or  being  properly  accompanied  ;  and 
taxed  her  outright  with  having  had  no  real  purpose 
but  to  make  an  interesting  acquaintance  with  the 
new  handsome  young  practitioner.  "  Of  course 
he  saw  through  it  quick  enough,"  she  said,  sting- 
ingly.  "  And  what  do  you  suppose  he  thought  of 
a  girl  who  would  do  that  ?  " 

"  He  thought  I  meant  what  I  said,  aunt  Amelia  ; 
I  might  have  got  his  advice,  and  put  it  off,  as  I  did 
Dr.  Grapleigh's.  I  don't  trouble  myself  at  all 
about  what  he  thinks." 

"  Yes,  you  do.  You  've  done  a  foolish  thing,  and 
you  know  it.  It  's  in  the  tip  of  your  head,  this 
minute.  You  '11  have  to  be  ashamed  of  it  every 
time  you  see  him." 

It  was  in  this  sort  that  Miss  Amelia  Bonable 
punished  the  young  woman  whom  she  thought  sin 
cerely  she  was  dealing  with  in  rare  wisdom. 

The  tip  of  the  head  was  emphasized. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed,  and  I  shall  not  see  him," 
the  girl  answered  with  extreme  loftiness.  "  I  do 
not  know  Dr.  Harriman.  I  do  not  remember  him 
in  the  least  except  that  he  —  that  I  —  employed 
him." 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   GOLDEN   GOSSIP'S   MORNING   CALLS. 

THERE  was  something,  after  all,  iu  Rill  Raye, 
that  made  her  capable  of  learning  her  own  life-les 
sons.  She  had  got  one  now,  although  she  denied 
it,  even  to  herself ;  yet  she  would  run  just  as  head 
long  into  some  other  experience  and  invite  the 
wholesome  bitterness  of  that. 

Rill  Raye  kept  her  word.  Dr.  Harriman  met 
her  in  the  street,  and  was  about  to  raise  his  hat ; 
his  look  arrested  itself  and  his  hand  moved  up 
ward  for  the  infinitesimal  part  of  an  instant  and 
for  an  inch  of  space.  There  gesture  and  expres 
sion  were  checked  by  the  unrecognition  apparently 
too  serenely  thorough  to  be  a  cut,  upon  a  face  that 
neither  swerved  from  him  as  it  went  by,  nor  met  his 
glance  with  the  most  involuntary  consciousness. 
If  she  had  planned  this  next  step  with  the  deepest 
coquetry,  perhaps  she  could  not  have  managed 
better. 

"  I  wonder  how  she  got  that  up  ?  "  was  the  doc 
tor's  mental  exclamation.  There  was  a  half-smile 


22  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

upon  his  lips  as  he  walked  on,  diverted  and  stimu 
lated  to  interest  by  this  little  problem. 

She  had  simply  made  up  her  mind  that  for  her, 
under  present  circumstances,  Dr.  Harriman  did 
not  exist. 

Meanwhile,  she  had  been  to  see  Miss  Haven,  as 
she  had  desired  and  promised,  and  Miss  Haven 
had  been  to  see  her  aunt  Amelia. 

Miss  Bonable  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  the 
girl,  she  said.  She  came  to  this  point  of  confi 
dence  with  Miss  Haven  to  her  own  surprise ; 
hardly  perceiving  that  it  was  because  Miss  Haven 
spoke  kindly  of  Rill.  When  people  commented 
on  her  in  a  different  sort,  Miss  Bonable  was  ready, 
as  she  said,  to  "  brussle  up ; "  unconscious  also 
that  this  was  in  itself  more  harmful  than  help 
ful,  as  revealing  a  touchy  sensitiveness.  But  when 
Miss  Haven  said  nice  things,  the  simple  perplex 
ity  spoke  itself  out,  and  found  relief. 

"  She  's  careless,  and  she  don't  care.  And  she 
will  have  her  own  way,"  said  aunt  Amelia,  not  in 
tending  either  paradox  or  repetition.  She  meant 
that  Rill  wras  idle,  untidy,  according  to  her  ideas 
of  method  and  industry,  and  that  she  did  care,  em 
phatically,  to  do  as  she  pleased. 

"  Why,  she  won't  mend  her  second-best  gown  till 
the  best  is  torn  too,  and  as  for  stockings,  or  making 
up  anything  new  beforehand,  why,  you  might  as 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING  CALLS.       23 

well  talk  to  that  kitten  !  Only  the  other  clay,  I 
bought  her  some  real  pretty  summer  stuff  at  the 
mark-down  price.  '  Now,'  says  I,  '  you  don't 
really  want  it  this  season  ;  but  why  don't  you  go 
to  work  and  make  it  up,  and  lay  it  away  for  next 
spring?  Then  you  '11  be  forehanded  when  the 
warm  weather  comes  all  of  a  jump.'  And  what  do 
you  think  she  answered  back  ?  4 1  guess  I  'd  need 
to  be/bwrhanded,  to  do  all  you  'd  like  me  to  do,' 
says  she.  '  And  what  do  I  want  to  waste  this  sum 
mer  for,  working  for  next  ?  Why,  next  summer  I 
might  be  —  a  widow ! '  The  first  thing  comes  into 
her  head  comes  off  her  tongue,  let  it  be  whatever !  " 

"  She  's  a  bright  girl,"  said  Miss  Haven. 

"  Bright  ?  Yes,  and  smart,  too,  when  she  does 
take  hold.  If  it  were  n't  mostly  the  things  she  'd 
ought  to  let  alone.  But  I  don't  praise  her  ;  nor  let 
her  see  that  I  laugh,  if  she  is  funny.  And  I  don't 
scold.  The  only  way  is  to  touch  her  pride  ;  she  's 
got  that ;  and  I  mortify  her."  Miss  Bonable  shook 
out  her  work  and  set  up  her  head,  and  fixed  her 
lips  in  a  grim  certainty  of  astute  righteousness. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  mean  to  do  that !  Why,  to  mor 
tify  is  to  make  dead,  you  know,"  said  Miss  Haven, 
quickly,  yet  sweetly.  "  I  would  n't  mortify  any 
body,  not  even  a  dumb  creature.  That  does  put 
down,  beyond  reach." 

"  Well,  I  d'  know.     There 's  got  to  be  some  dis- 


22  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

upon  his  lips  as  he  walked  on,  diverted  and  stimu 
lated  to  interest  by  this  little  problem. 

She  had  simply  made  up  her  mind  that  for  her, 
under  present  circumstances,  Dr.  Harriman  did 
not  exist. 

Meanwhile,  she  had  been  to  see  Miss  Haven,  as 
she  had  desired  and  promised,  and  Miss  Haven 
had  been  to  see  her  aunt  Amelia. 

Miss  Bonable  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  the 
girl,  she  said.  She  came  to  this  point  of  confi 
dence  with  Miss  Haven  to  her  own  surprise ; 
hardly  perceiving  that  it  was  because  Miss  Haven 
spoke  kindly  of  Rill.  When  people  commented 
on  her  in  a  different  sort,  Miss  Bonable  was  ready, 
as  she  said,  to  "  brussle  up ; "  unconscious  also 
that  this  was  in  itself  more  harmful  than  help 
ful,  as  revealing  a  touchy  sensitiveness.  But  when 
Miss  Haven  said  nice  things,  the  simple  perplex 
ity  spoke  itself  out,  and  found  relief. 

"  She  's  careless,  and  she  don't  care.  And  she 
will  have  her  own  way,"  said  aunt  Amelia,  not  in 
tending  either  paradox  or  repetition.  She  meant 
that  Rill  was  idle,  untidy,  according  to  her  ideas 
of  method  and  industry,  and  that  she  did  care,  em 
phatically,  to  do  as  she  pleased. 

"  Why,  she  won't  mend  her  second-best  gown  till 
the  best  is  torn  too,  and  as  for  stockings,  or  making 
up  anything  new  beforehand,  why,  you  might  as 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING  CALLS.       23 

well  talk  to  that  kitten  !  Only  the  other  day,  I 
bought  her  some  real  pretty  summer  stuff  at  the 
mark-down  price.  '  Now,'  says  I,  '  you  don't 
really  want  it  this  season  ;  but  why  don't  you  go 
to  work  and  make  it  up,  and  lay  it  away  for  next 
spring?  Then  you  '11  be  forehanded  when  the 
warm  weather  comes  all  of  a  jump.'  And  what  do 
you  think  she  answered  back  ?  4 1  guess  I  'd  need 
to  be/cwrhanded,  to  do  all  you  'd  like  me  to  do,' 
says  she.  '  And  what  do  I  want  to  waste  this  sum 
mer  for,  working  for  next  ?  Why,  next  summer  I 
might  be  —  a  widow ! '  The  first  thing  comes  into 
her  head  comes  off  her  tongue,  let  it  be  whatever !  " 

"  She  's  a  bright  girl,"  said  Miss  Haven. 

"  Bright  ?  Yes,  and  smart,  too,  when  she  does 
take  hold.  If  it  were  n't  mostly  the  things  she  'd 
ought  to  let  alone.  But  I  don't  praise  her  ;  nor  let 
her  see  that  I  laugh,  if  she  is  funny.  And  I  don't 
scold.  The  only  way  is  to  touch  her  pride  ;  she  's 
got  that ;  and  I  mortify  her."  Miss  Bonable  shook 
out  her  work  and  set  up  her  head,  and  fixed  her 
lips  in  a  grim  certainty  of  astute  righteousness. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  mean  to  do  that !  Why,  to  mor 
tify  is  to  make  dead,  you  know,"  said  Miss  Haven, 
quickly,  yet  sweetly.  "  I  would  n't  mortify  any 
body,  not  even  a  dumb  creature.  That  does  put 
down,  beyond  reach." 

"  Well,  I  d'  know.     There 's  got  to  be  some  dis- 


24  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

cipline.  And  she  's  eighteen  years  old.  I  can't 
slap  her,  nor  put  her  in  the  closet." 

"  We  are  all  apt  to  mistake  punishment  for  dis 
cipline.  Discipline  is  teaching.  The  Lord  shows 
us  our  good  as  well  as  our  evil." 

Miss  Bonable  did  not  say  anything.  This  of  it 
self  was  a  remarkable  effect  with  her. 

"  Rill  is  a  brave  girl,  too,"  Miss  Haven  adven 
tured. 

"  Oh,  you  've  heard  that,  have  you  ?  "  Miss 
Bonable  rejoined  quickly,  her  head  going  up  again 
as  with  a  spring,  and  her  hand,  with  her  needle  in 
it,  held  arrested  in  high  air.  "  I  knew  it  would 
travel.  That 's  what  I  told  her." 

"  You  mean,  I  suppose,  her  having  her  tooth 
drawn.  That  is  only  one  thing.  She  told  me  that 
herself,  merely  as  a  statement.  I  guessed  the 
bravery  of  it." 

"  Other  folks  will  guess  the  accounting-for  of 
the  bravery.  There  's  always  talk." 

"  Yes,  there  always  is.  Human  beings  take  an 
interest  in  each  other.  That  is  why  it  is  well  to 
meet  talk  with  talk,  or  to  anticipate.  I  think  we 
ought  to  take  pains  to  say  all  the  best  we  can  of 
each  other,  since  something  is  sure  to  be  said." 

"  You  '11  have  chance  enough  to  try  that  at 
Crooke  Corner,"  said  Miss  Bonable.  "Perhaps 
it  '11  work,  if  you  can  get  your  sort  of  word  in 


A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING   CALLS.       25 

edgeways.  But  I  guess  it  '11  come  in  kind  o'  flat, 
like  bread-sauce  without  pepper  or  onion." 

"  I  hope  I  may  make  good  my  opportunity. 
And  there  are  things  in  character,  as  in  bread- 
sauce,  that  would  be  intolerable  by  themselves,  but 
are  relishing  as  condiments." 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  if  some  of  your  resates 
might  make  the  world  taste  better  than  it  does," 
said  Miss  Bonable,  dropping  her  work  and  getting 
up  to  see  her  visitor  to  the  door,  as  the  latter 
moved  to  go.  And  Miss  Haven  knew,  by  the  tone 
and  motion,  that  she  was  leaving  a  little  new  cour 
age  behind  her, .in  a  spirit  anxious  with  difficulties, 
and  hard  because  of  anxieties. 

Miss  Haven  went  straight  from  Miss  Bonable's 
over  to  Mrs.  Rospey's.  There  was  word  in  the 
village  that  Mrs.  Rospey  was  left  without  a  girl 
again.  Girls  at  Mrs.  Rospey's  were  always  flaring 
up  and  leaving.  The  lady  had  a  doubtful  name 
among  her  acquaintances,  as  "  one  who  was  always 
changing,"  and  a  very  decided  and  detrimental 
one  in  the  kitchen  constituency,  as  "  hard  to  get 
along  with."  "You  won't  stay  a  week  at  Ros 
pey's,"  was  the  common  saying  in  the  solidarity. 
Prophecy  fulfilled  itself.  Cause  and  effect  acted 
and  reacted,  until  you  could  n't  tell  which  began  it. 
Girls  went  to  Mrs.  Rospey's  as  with  a  loaded  re 
volver,  all  ready  to  fire  at  the  first  move.  It  was 


26  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  hands  up  !  "  from  the  start.  Poor  Mrs.  Rospey 
was  helpless.  Amiability  itself  could  not  save  her. 
After  a  brief  space  of  relief  and  of  Christian  hope 
that  she  was  beginning  to  keep  her  temper  and 
should  keep  her  girl,  down  came  the  thunderbolt 
out  of  the  clear  sky,  and  the  Katie  or  Annie  of 
the  time  "  gave  notice."  The  secret  which  the 
mistress  did  not  penetrate  was,  that,  not  expecting 
to  stay  more  than  "  a  week  at  Rospey's,"  the  in 
cumbent  was  simply  there  in  transitu ;,  saving 
board  and  doing  her  washing,  making  ready  for  a 
place  to  which  she  had  been  pledged  beforehand, 
and  in  which  she  did  expect  to  stay  as  long  as 
"  things  were  agreeable."  And  if  friends  knew 
of  any  thoroughly  good  person  to  fill  the  duties, 
they  thought  it  less  than  useless  to  make  the  sug 
gestion  in  Mrs.  Rospey's  behalf,  from  the  difficulty 
of  persuasion  on  the  one  side,  and  the  difficulty 
of  knowing  when  she  was  well  off  on  the  other. 
"  You  can't  stop  a  leak  with  water,"  they  said. 

"•  What  is  it  this  time  ?  "  was  the  question  that 
went  about,  when  a  fresh  vacancy  was  reported. 
And  this  time  —  of  Miss  Haven's  visit  —  it  had 
been,  as  currently  asserted,  the  throwing  of  a  dish 
cloth  in  the  servant's  face.  "  And  you  could  n't 
expect  anybody  to  stand  that,"  was  the  appended 
comment.  What  might  have  happened  first,  that 
Mrs.  Rospey  could  n't  be  expected  to  stand,  was 
never  inquired. 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING  CALLS.       27 

One  of  Miss  Haven's  rules  was "  not  to  talk 
round  a  person."  She  knew  very  well  she  could 
hear  the  whole  dishcloth  story  at  Mrs.  Clackett's, 
or  Mrs.  Wisper's  ;  but  she  did  not  care  at  all  about 
the  dishcloth;  she  was  a  more  thorough  gossip,  she 
sometimes  said  to  Sarah  Crooke,  than  to  be  inter 
ested  in  what  everybody  knew,  and  had  repeated 
threadbare  ;  the  real  zest  of  a  subject  was  in  the 
point  imreached  and  hardest  to  get  at.  If  she 
could  n't  find  out  a  little  more  than  her  neighbors, 
it  was  n't  worth  while  to  gossip  at  all.  When, 
therefore,  a  hearsay  came  trickling  along  to  her, 
she  did  not  drink  of  it  with  all  that  it  might  have 
gathered  on  its  way  ;  neither  did  she  even  paddle 
in  it,  or  stir  it  up,  to  send  it  further  a  little  more 
roiled  then  before.  If  she  did  anything,  she  fol 
lowed  it  straight  up  to  the  springhead,  and  saw  for 
herself  with  what  quality  it  started.  In  this  case, 
in  the  midst  of  the  bubbling  and  boiling,  she  found 
a  flavor  sweeter  than  she  had  even  hoped. 

The  bereaved  housekeeper  was  brushing  down 
her  front  staircase  when  Miss  Haven  rang  at  the 
door.  Mrs.  Rospey's  face  brightened  as  she  let  her 
visitor  in,  and  led  the  way  to  a  dainty  little  sitting- 
room. 

"  I  wish  the  I^ord  would  give  me  a  new  set  of 
nerves  !  "  she  said,  after  making  due  explanation  of 
her  employment  and  of  her  big  morning  apron. 


28  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  Perhaps  He  will  —  by  providing  a  good  rest  for 
the  old  ones,"  returned  Miss  Haven. 

"  Ah,  you  know  all  about  it,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ros- 
pey,  gratefully, "  and  of  course  you  know  the  old 
ones  stand  in  the  way  of  my  getting  it.  It  seems 
as  if  the  Lord  himself  could  n't  make  out  which 
end  to  begin  at." 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  of  a  very  nice  woman  who  is 
just  left  out  of  a  place.  She  never  left  one  in  her 
life." 

"  She  \l  better  not  come  here,  then.  She  'd 
break  her  record.  She.  would  n't  stay.  They 
never  do.  She  would  n't  come  if  she  's  principled 
against  leaving. 

"The  minute  anything  goes  contrary,  they  tell 
me  they  knew  it  would,  —  they  were  warned  they 
could  n  't  live  with  me,  —  and  all  I  want  is  that 
they  should  do  things  with  some  sort  of  conscience. 
If  I  liked  to  have  the  kitchen  sweepings,  dust  and 
ashes  and  bones  and  lemon-skins,  piled  up  behind 
the  coal-hod,  and  half  the  breakfast  thrown  into 
the  scrap-pail,  and  the  glass-towels  used  to  wipe 
the  stove,  and  the  napkins  for  oven  cloths,  I  could 
get  along  beautifully.  I  should  be  easy  to  live 
with :  but  I  should  n't  live  easy  with  myself.  I 
found  the  last  one  washing  out  the  soup-pot  with  a 
doily,  and  I  snatched  it  out  of  her  hand  and  flung 
it  across  to  the  kitchen  table  ;  but  it  had  to  go  past 


A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MOENING  CALLS.       29 

her  on  the  way,  and  she  said  I  threw  it  at  her.  I 
know  it  was  temper,  and  it  was  n't  dignified  ;  but 
I  don't  believe  Moses  could  be  dignified  —  or 
meek  —  if  he  had  to  regulate  such  things  with 
such  creatures.  When  he  did  lose  his  temper,  he 
smashed  all  the  ten  commandments." 

Mrs.  Rospey  lauglied  hysterically  ;  and  then  the 
tears  sprung  in  her  eyes  and  trembled  in  her  voice. 
It  was  partly  the  understanding  look  in  Miss  Ha 
ven's  face,  and  the  sympathy  of  her  smile.  "  Why, 
I  've  prayed  about  it,"  she  went  on,  putting  her 
hand  out  and  laying  it  on  her  friend's ;  "  and  then 
I  've  gone  straight  downstairs  and  found  something 
I  could  n't  stand,  and  knew  I  ought  n't  to  stand, 
and  I  've  upset  the  whole  calabash  again." 

"  You  are  too  good  a  housekeeper,  perhaps,  to  be 
easily  a  temper-keeper." 

"  Ought  n't  I  to  be  a  good  housekeeper  ?  "  de 
manded  Mrs.  Rospey,  with  earnest  eyes.  She  was 
only  thirty,  yet  ;  and  thirty  is  young  in  the  intri 
cacies  of  experience. 

"  Set  one  ought  against  another,"  suggested  Miss 
Haven. 

"  It 's  only  double-ought,  after  all ;  it  makes  it 
just  a  hundred  times  as  hard.  I  ought  to  take 
good  care  of  things,  and  I  ought  to  be  kind  to  peo 
ple.  I  can  do  them  separately ;  but  when  it 's  peo 
ple  and  things  together,  people  that  ought  to  help 


30  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

me  with  the  things  "  —  She  broke  down  with  her 
speech  in  a  tangle. 

"  Yes  ;  there  's  that  ought  on  the  other  side," 
said  Miss  Haven.  "  Lucretia  Dawse  would  fill  it. 
She  is  at  Shepaug.  If  I  come  for  you  to-morrow 
morning,  will  you  drive  there  with  me  and  see 
her?" 

"  Yes.  And  I  '11  tell  her  just  what  she  's  got  to 
put  up  with.  For  I  'm  all  nerves  no\v,  of  the 
wrong  sort ;  and  I  sha'n't  be  easy-going  all  at  once. 
But  you  —  what  did  you  come  for  —  to  help  me 
so?" 

"  Oh,  I  only  came  gossiping.  But  I  guess  it  was 
an  errand.  We  don't  always  know  when  we  are 
sent  —  till  we  get  there.  I  shall  be  glad  if  this 
turns  out  a  comfort." 

"  It  has  turned  out  a  comfort,"  said  Mrs.  Ros- 
pey.  "  And  it 's  good  to  have  somebody  come  gos 
siping,  and  find  out  the  sense  of  your  affairs.  It 's 
a  new  way." 

Before  Miss  Haven  got  home  that  da}*,  she  had 
added  two  more  items  to  her  budget  of  interior  in 
formation. 

She  found  out  that  the  minister's  wife  did  not 
spend  a  quarter  part  of  that  last  reception  present 
in  new  satin  covers  for  her  parlor  chairs ;  but  that 
she  had  reseated  them  herself  with  the  odd  breadths 
of  an  ancient  damask  gown  out  of  an  old  family 


A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING  CALLS.       31 

trunk,  of  exactly  the  rich,  sober  brown  that  her 
eyes  Ijved,  and  of  an  obsolete,  honest,  indestructi 
ble  stuff. 

And  then  the  good  lady  met  Colonel  Sholto,  who 
had  married  the  pretty  young  widow  March,  riding 
with  his  stepson.  He  sent  the  boy  on  at  a  canter, 
and  stopped  Miss  Haven  to  say  something  to  her 
about  a  book-club.  But  first  he  pointed  after  the 
little  fellow  with  his  whip.  "  Takes  to  the  saddle 
well,  does  n't  he  ?  "  he  said,  with  as  much  pride  as 
a  real  father  could. 

Miss  Haven  nodded,  with  a  pleased  look,  along 
the  line  of  direction.  "You've  made  him  happy 
with  a  pony,  then  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes.  It 's  better  than  the  stable  yards.  Jack  's 
of  good  stuff,  but  good  stuff  might  be  spoiled  in 
the  handling.  Do  you  know  what  he  said  to  me  at 
the  beginning  of  our  concerns  with  each  other?" 

Colonel  Sholto  had  not  the  least  idea  that  she 
could;  his  "  do  you  know?"  was  merely  prelimi 
nary.  Miss  Haven  surprised  him  by  saying  she 
had  heard  something  odd  ;  but  would  he  please 
tell  her  himself?  She  was  fond  of  a  good  story, 
and  always  liked  to  get  the  whole  of  it. 

"  What  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  That  he  marched  up  to  you  and  stated  that  his 
mother  might  have  a  step-husband  if  she  wanted 
to,  but  that  he  wouldn't  be  a  step-boy  to  anybody." 


32  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Colonel  Sholto  gave  a  quick,  big-chested  laugh. 
"  Nearly  verbatim,"  he  replied. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Miss  Haven. 

Colonel  Sholto's  face  grew  graver  and  very  plea 
sant  as  he  answered :  "  I  told  him  that  was  spirited  ; 
and  good,  in  the  best  sense  of  it.  I  hoped  there 
would  be  no  half  relations  with  any  of  us  ;  I  meant 
to  be  his  friend,  and  should  want  him  for  mine ; 
and  we  must  both  stand  up  for  his  mother.  He 
had  the  quickness  and  honesty  to  take  home  that 
last  hint ;  I  could  see  it  by  his  color ;  but  his  eyes 
gave  me  the  right  look,  and  —  well,  I  think  we  are 
friends,  Miss  Haven." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  have  told  you  all  this, 
right  here  in  the  street ;  but  there  was  something 
in  your  face  that  went  beyond  the  first  word,  and 
so  you  have  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Haven  again.  "  There 
is  always  something  beyond  the  first  word.  The 
first  word  hardly  ever  satisfies  me." 

There  was  that  in  her  response  which  went 
beyond  the  word  also.  Colonel  Sholto  felt  it, 
and  was  glad  they  had  spoken.  After  all,  he 
rode  away,  forgetting  what  he  first  had  stopped 
for. 

When  Elizabeth  Haven  got  home,  she  took  off 
her  bonnet  in  Sarah  Crooke's  parlor  before  going 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING  CALLS.       33 

upstairs.  She  had  a  way  of  doing  this  ;  she  knew 
that  Sarah  Crooke  liked  it. 

"Well,  what  have  you  picked  up?"  was  the 
stereotyped  query. 

"  Some  dropped  stitches,"  said  Miss  Haven. 
"  They  piece  out  several  things.  Miss  Bonable 
thinks  pretty  well  of  Rill  Raye,  to  begin  with. 
She  says  she 's  bright,  and  proud,  and  capable, 
and  self-respecting.  She  can  always  influence 
her  through  her  self-respect." 

Miss  Sarah  opened  her  eyes  wide. 

"  She  has  so  much  character,  that  it  makes  her 
anxious  about  dealing  with  her  just  right." 

"  Don't  say !  "  interjected  Miss  Sarah. 

"  Yes ;  that 's  just  what  I  do  say,  just  what  I 
wanted  to  have  to  say.  It 's  a  little  more  than 
most  folks  know." 

This  view  of  the  matter  evidently  struck  Miss 
Sarah,  for  she  stopped  knitting  in  the  middle  of 
her  needle,  and  replied  nothing. 

"  And  I  've  been  to  Mrs.  Rospey's,"  Miss  Haven 
went  011 ;  "  and  the  dishcloth  was  a  damask  nap 
kin  that  she  took  away  in  a  hurry  from  the  girl  who 
was  cleaning  a  kettle  with  it.  The  rest  of  the 
story  was  of  the  girl's  authorship ;  and  a  sweeter, 
tenderer  little  woman  than  Mrs.  Rospey  —  inside 
—  I  don't  believe  there  is  in  \Vewachet.  I  'm 
going  to  send  Lucretia  Dawse  to  her.  She  wants 


34  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

somebody  of  her  own  sort.  Her  house  is  like  wax 
work.  When  there  are  birds  of  a  feather,  there  '11 
be  peace  in  the  nest." 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  You  do  seem  to  have  got  the 
inside  track  !  I  never  had  any  objections  to  Mar 
tha  Rospey  ;  but  she  's  been  awful  quick-tempered 
in  her  kitchen  —  alwers." 

"  It 's  good  to  know  the  whole  of  a  thing,"  said 
Miss  Haven,  quietly.  "  And  then  I  met  Colonel 
Sholto,  riding  with  Jack  March.  He  has  given 
the  little  fellow  a  pony,  and  he  told  me  that 
he  and  Jack  made  friends  from  the  minute  the 
boy  told  him  he  would  n't  be  step-boy  to  anybody. 
Colonel  Sholto  said  he  did  n't  want  any  half  re 
lations,  and  I  guess  it 's  a  whole  one  now,  at  any 
rate." 

"  He  told  you  all  that  —  a-horseback  !  I  guess 
you  follered  him  up  pretty  close.  I  thought  you 
was  n't  inquisitive." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am ;  as  inquisitive  as  Eve,  only  I 
like  my  information  from  the  best  authority.  I 
should  n't  accept  the  serpent's  account  of  a  thing. 
It  is  remarkable  how  much  more  people  know 
about  themselves  sometimes  than  you  can  tell  them. 
Mrs.  Pinceley's  chairs  are  made  out  of  her  great- 
aunt's  old  ironside  gown ;  she  seated  them  herself, 
and  they  look  as  if  they  were  born  so,  with  satin 
skins." 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING   CALLS.       35 

"  Seems  to  me  everything  's  got  a  satin  skin,  or 
you  've  new  covered  'em.  You  're  a  dabster  at 
perticklers,  anyhow." 

"  Cousin  Sarah,"  said  Elizabeth  Haven,  very 
cordially,  "  you  have  a  wonderful  opportunity  in 
your  life,  I  think.  Everybody  comes  to  you,  and 
you  are  interested  about  everybody.  You  could 
generally  know  more  than  any  one  else ;  and  you 
have  a  clear  judgment,  and  chance  to  weigh  and 
consider.  You  conld  set  ever  so  many  things 
straight  in  Wewachet.  " 

"  Can't  make  folks  over.  They  will  tattle,  and 
they  like  things  best  before  they  're  all  explained. 
After  they  've  wondered  awhile,  they  '11  take  the  ex 
planation,  may  be.  That 's  something  new,  then. 
But  they  will  have  the  new"  Miss  Sarah  said 
"  ni-evv,"  and  it  was  very  effective.  "  I  'm  bound 
to  say  I  like  the  ni-ew  myself,"  she  repeated,  with 
the  honesty  Miss  Haven  provoked  from  almost 
everybody. 

"  We  all  like  it.  We  're  made  to  like  it. 
There  would  n't  be  any  growing  or  getting  on  if 
we  did  n't.  But  in  the  matter  of  talk  about  other 
people,  I  think  there  are  just  three  rules  that 
make  it  safe,  and  leave  us  all  the  interest  and 
satisfaction." 

"  I  'd  be  pleased  to  know  'em.  I  'd  be  pleased 
to  hear  of  any  rules  that  folks  would  be  likely  to 


86  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

talk  by.  You  can't  even  keep  'em  to  dictionary 
and  grammar,"  said  Miss  Sarah  Crooke. 

"  They  are  very  simple,"  said  Miss  Haven.  "  To 
tell  the  best  things  ;  to  make  the  best  of  the  bad 
things ;  and  to  straighten  the  mistakes." 

"  That 's  all  very  pretty,  and  very  well  for  you, 
who  can  get  about  and  root  things  out ;  but  I  set 
here  in  my  corner  and  take  what  comes." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  is  the  opportunity.  It 
seems  to  me  it  is  like  a  call,"  said  Miss  Haven, 
in  her  way  that  went  behind  the  word  she  an 
swered. 

Sarah  Crooke  twinkled.  "  Like  Matthoo  at  the 
resate  o'  custom  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Something  so,  perhaps." 

"  I  can't  build  up  a  ni-ew  world  —  nor  yet  make 
a  millennium  —  stuck  here  like  a  limpet !  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  we  have  to  think  of  the  mil 
lennium,"  Miss  Haven  answered  ;  "  only  of  each 
little  million-millionth  of  the  right  at  a  time. 
When  the  Lord  made  the  mollusk  He  did  n't  say, 
'  Go  to  work  and  build  a  continent.'  But  every 
little  mollusk  grew  his  shell  the  best  and  truest 
shape  he  could,  and  lived  his  life  out ;  and  the  con 
tinent  gathered  together,  and  rose  under  the  water, 
till  the  Lord's  own  time  came,  and  He  lifted  it  up 
into  the  light." 

"  You  're  a  good  talker,  and  you  've  got  a  good 


A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP'S  MORNING   CALLS.       37 

headpiece,"  said  Sarah  Crooke,  as  she  fell  to  knit 
ting  again  with  a  force  that  hinted  a  climax  to  the 
conversation.  Miss  Haven  accepted  both  compli 
ment  and  hint  with  a  smile,  took  her  bonnet,  and 
went  off  upstairs. 


CHAPTEK   III. 

IN   THE    ORCHARD. 

PUTNAM  KING  professed  great  delight  in  his 
aunt's  shrewd  reformatory  proceedings.  "  How  do 
you  get  along  with  your  new  School  for  Scandal  ?  " 
he  would  ask,  when  he  came  out  to  Wewachet  for 
a  Saturday  to  Monday  stay.  "  It  is  the  greatest 
woman-movement  yet.  But  it  interferes  with  their 
dearest  rights,  I  'm  afraid.  Does  n't  it  take  the 
edge  off  life  for  Sarah  Crooke  ?  " 

"  Now,  Putnam,  look  here  !  Sarah  Crooke  has 
a  fine  background  to  her  character." 

"  Why  does  she  keep  it  in  the  background,  I 
wonder !  "  interpolated  Putnam ;  but  Miss  Haven 
went  sturdily  on. 

"  If  you  were  tied  to  an  armchair  and  four 
knitting-needles,  —  no,  we  will  say  to  a  pipe  and  a 
newspaper,  —  you  —  or  any  man  —  would  be  a 
thousand  times  worse  gossip  than  ever  she  was. 
Would  be  ?  You  are  now  ;  and  your  newspapers 
are  your  condemnation.  You  men,  you  devourers 
of  news,  to  despise  gossip !  when  the  daily  columns 


IN   THE  ORCHARD.  39 

don't  suffice  for  yon,  with  all  their  biggest  capitals, 
and  life  is  bare,  unless  the  world  comes  to  a  partial 
end  every  day  to  feed  your  voracity  !  " 

"  Oh,  that  's  legitimate,"  said  Putnam,  laughing. 
"  It  's  published  news;  it  concerns  the  world,  —  we 
don't  want  it  upside  down,  but  we  must  know  if  it 
is  ;  it  's  important.  And  print  is  open  to  contra 
diction  and  refutation.  It 's  responsible.  It  does  n't 
keep  its  tail  in  a  hole,  like  an  earthworm,  ready  to 
draw  back  if  it  sees  danger." 

"  Oh,  does  n't  it  ?  Putnam  King,  newspaper 
gossip  is  the  very  crown  —  no,  abyss  —  of  gossip  ! 
See  here !  Did  n't  I  read  only  the  other  day,  in 
one  of  your  high-toned  journals,  a  long  screed  on 
one  side  about  what  the  American  newspaper  is  do 
ing  toward  the  bringing  up  of  the  American  small 
boy  in  the  way  he  should  n't  go ;  a  virtuous,  holy- 
horror  article  against  the  stuff  with  which  the  press 
had  been  bursting  for  days  about  a  prize  fight  and 
the  fighters  ;  and  did  n't  I  turn  over  the  sheet  and 
come  pat  upon  an  Associated  Press  report  from 
New  Orleans  of  this  same  prize  fight,  a  column 
and  a  half  long,  with  every  punch  and  bruise  of 
every  round  in  it  ?  And  over  the  top  —  tail  in  a 
hole,  to  be  sure  —  just  the  salvo  of  protest  in  a 
line  of  the  heading  — '  SHAMEFUL  AFFAIR  ! '  Oh, 
tail  in  a  hole  !  As  if  that  line,  in  such  enormous 
print,  were  n't  the  very  crier's  bell  to  sell  the 
paper  by !  " 


40  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

The  good  lady  paused  for  breath,  just  gasping 
for  the  third  time,  with  triple-X  scorn,  —  "  Tail  in 
a  hole,  truly !  " 

Putnam  King  gasped  with  merriment.  Then 
he  put  on  a  serene,  judicial  air,  mingled  with  be 
nevolent  instructiveness,  and  said  :  - 

"  Two  different  departments,  auntie  !  Two  sep 
arate  worms.  The  regular  Associated  Press  takes 
its  course ;  then  the  editorial  comes  in  with  com 
ments.  But  you  're  right,  in  a  way.  It  's  like 
conduct  and  conscience.  It  's  human  warious, 
that 's  all." 

"  It  's  masculine  warious.  Women  have  n't  got 
all  the  human  nature.  That 's  what  I  said.  Any 
way,  the  papers  are  n't  fit  to  touch,  and  you  have 
to  read  them  with  your  eyes  shut.  If  women's  talk 
is  any  worse  than  that !  " 

"  Aunt  Elizabeth,  you  're  a  merciful-minded  per 
son  ;  but  when  you  do  sit  down  on  a  thing,  you  sit 
down  hard  !  " 

"  I  've  got  the  slips.  I  cut  them  out  and  kept 
them,"  Miss  Elizabeth  persisted,  calmly  holding 
on  to  her  facts. 

"  Never  mind.  Be  good  and  change  the  subject. 
Tell  me  something  about  Miss  Rill  Rave,"  said  the 
young  man,  audaciously. 

"  Won't  you  please  give  me  your  special  defini 
tion  of  gossip  ?  "  asked  Miss  Haven,  opening  her 


IN  THE  ORCHARD.  41 

eyes  wide  at  him,  and  dropping  her  words  singly 
and  slowly,  with  a  calm  sarcasm.  "  The  thing  old 
women  are  prone  to,  and  men  and  the  newspapers 
decline  ?  " 

"  Personal  talk,  I  suppose,  without  sympathy  or 
necessity.  But  don't  ask  me  to  define  the  sym 
pathy,  or  argue  the  necessity.  Tell  me  about  Miss 
Raye  ! " 

•'She  was  here  the  other  night  to  tea,"  Miss 
Haven  answered,  curtly. 

"  Why  is  it  always  the  other  night  ?  "  demanded 
the  young  man,  with  an  absurd  tone  of  injury. 

Miss  Haven  found  it  difficult  to  distinguish  be 
tween  his  chaff  and  his  earnest ;  or  rather,  perhaps, 
to  find  out  whether  the  chaff  covered  any  bit  of 
earnest  she  might  deprecate.  She  had  taken  care 
not  to  bring  these  two  young  persons  together, 
chiefly  because  she  would  not  let  another  story  be 
begun  about  Rill  Raye  ;  also  because  she  wanted 
to  have  her  freely  to  herself  for  awhile. 

"  I  do  not  want  all  my  company  on  the  same 
night,"  she  said.  "  We  had  a  thunderstorm." 

"  Was  that  a  foregone  conclusion  ?  Part  of  the 
company  ?  " 

"  Do  you  ask  from  sympathy  or  necessity  ?  " 

"  Both.  I  am  really  concerned  for  a  young  woman 
who  carries  such  meteorological  conditions  with 
her,  and  I  might  guide  my  own  arrivals  by  the 


42  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

weather  bureau.  Would  it  have  been  any  more 
thundery  if  you  had  had  more  company  ?  " 

Aunt  Elizabeth  was  pretty  sure  it  was  all  chaff. 
The  pretense  of  interest  was  too  out-thrust  and  ex 
aggerated  to  have  in  it  any  touch  of  dangerous 
reality.  Here  was  where  the  limitation  of  her 
judgment  showed  itself,  and  played  her  false.  She 
determined  for  a  man  upon  feminine  premises.  So 
she  fell  into  the  snare  again,  and  gave  him,  as  she 
had  done  on  other  occasions,  all  the  little  piquan 
cies  and  illustrations  of  her  latest  study  of  Hill 
Raye.  She  brought  the  two  together,  all  unaware, 
much  more  nearly  than  if  she  had  invited  them  to 
tea  expressly  at  the  same  time. 

"Don't  talk  such  stilted  nonsense,"  she  remon 
strated,  and  forthwith  launched  into  her  little 
story  ;  which,  as  Putnam  did  immediately  dismiss 
his  stilted  nonsense  and  become  an  unobstructive 
listener,  I  will  put,  if  you  please,  in  my  own  way, 
as  a  part  of  mine. 

Miss  Haven  had  two  main  principles  in  her  sys 
tem  of  social  diplomacy  which  she  was  trying  to 
work  out  here  in  Wewachet,  and  specially  with 
Sarah  Crooke.  First,  she  believed  in  bringing 
people  nearer  to  each  other.  She  knew  how  either 
closeness  or  remoteness  influences  feeling;  how  a 
certain  forced  isolation  gives  a  sense  of  injury  and 
deprivation  ;  how  sympathy  is  warped  to  criticism, 


7^   THE  ORCHARD.  43 

and  criticism  tends  to  cruelty.  Social  inaccessibil 
ity  is  like  that  which  prompts  the  gunner's  impulse 
to  bring  down  the  bird.  The  same  hand  which 
pulls  the  trigger  might  tenderly  nurse  a  frightened, 
wounded  thing  that  fluttered  to  it  for  help  or  shel 
ter  ;  but  the  thing  beyond,  in  its  own  element, 
reachable  by  no  direct  and  natural  touch,  is  a  mark 
for  eager  hunting  down  and  bringing  near  as  prey. 
Miss  Haven  often  found,  as  her  theory  argued, 
that  to  fetch  inside  of  range  was  to  save  from  the 
weapon's  aim. 

In  the  second  place,  she  reasoned  and  discovered 
that  one  may  touch  the  very  nerve  of  gossipy  de 
sire,  the  palate  of  its  hunger,  to  some  nobler  satisfy 
ing  by  finding  choicer,  rarer  bits  than  the  common 
menu  furnished.  So  she  brought  home  to  Sarah 
Crooke,  eager  and  famishing  in  her  deprived  cor 
ner,  both  people  and  things. 

Instead  of  letting  Rill  Raye  go  by,  and  Sarah 
sit  wondering  where  she  had  been  or  whither  might 
be  bound,  ou  what  errand  of  madcapry,  —  or  man- 
trapry,  as  would  better  have  expressed  her  idea  of 
Rill's  bits  of  fun  and  flirting, —  Miss  Haven  asked 
the  girl  in,  and  kept  her  to  tea  ;  letting  her  use  her 
bright  nonsense  in  amusing  Miss  Sarah,  who,  with 
all  her  animadversions,  dearly  loved  to  be  made 
to  laugh,  and  with  her  frank  gossip  about  herself 
anticipate  and  disarm  all  guesswork  and  tattle. 


44  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Not  infrequently  some  incident  called  forth  a  brave 
kindliness,  a  gentle  generosity,  a  ready  service, 
which  were  in  Rill's  nature,  and  which  surprised  a 
pleasure  and  gratitude  from  Sarah  Crooke  that 
were,  at  least,  next  door  to  affection. 

On  this  summer  afternoon  in  question,  Rill  had 
come  up  from  the  Point  and  stopped  in  to  find 
Miss  Haven  just  returned  from  town,  and  inclined 
to  make  scrap-holiday  by  some  pleasant  sort  of  do 
ing  nothing.  "  Come  down  into  the  orchard,"  she 
said  to  Rill.  "  Talk  to  Miss  Sarah,  and  play 
bezique  with  me,  and  then  take  tea  with  us." 

Miss  Haven's  steamer-chair  had  been  carried 
down  among  the  apple-trees,  where  she  had  be 
guiled  cousin  Sarah  into  a  habit  of  sitting  in  the 
pleasant  weather,  under  the  low  arches  of  the  old 
boughs  borne  downward  in  the  gracious  shaping  of 
their  long  fruit  bearing.  Three  or  four  of  these 
broad  shelters  were  grouped  in  the  hollow  of  the 
field,  where  the  breeze  moved  more  softly  than  on 
the  land-swell ;  and  here  each  lady  had  chosen  her 
own  customary  place,  apart,  and  yet  near  enough 
for  talk  and  companionship.  Hither,  now,  Miss 
Haven  and  Rill  brought  cards  and  lapboard.  No 
thing  rested  Miss  Elizabeth  like  a  simple  game,  she 
said  ;  she  could  not  sit  still  and  fold  her  hands, 
there  was  too  much  main  force  in  that ;  so  with 
Sarah  Crooke  she  played  cribbage,  or  cassino,  or, 
with  Rill  Rave,  the  more  intricate  bezique. 


IN  THE  ORCHARD.  45 

The  old  lady,  Sarah's  mother,  did  not  come  out ; 
she  rarely  left  her  armchair  now.  "  She  'd  gi'en 
up  runnin'  outdoor,"  she  said,  "  long  ago ;  she 
thought  Sarah  was  most  too  old  a  girl  for  such 
capers."  She  was  growing  much  more  deaf,  and 
"  sence  Radne  came,  and  was  so  kind  o'  comfortin' 
and  easy  with  her,  she  didn't  seem  to  care  for 
change,  or  even  visitin'."  She  had  established 
herself  and  her  gray  knitting- work  within  her  little 
"  kitchen  bedroom,"  by  the  window  at  the  bed 
head.  Often  her  only  movement  was  from  the  one 
resting-place  to  the  other.  "  Seemed  someway," 
she  said,  "  's  though  she  could  n't  rest  enough." 
Poor  thing  ;  she  had  done  over-hours'  work  all  her 
life.  Sarah  was  a  good  daughter  ;  her  "  beautiful 
eye "  was  always  turned  upon  her  mother ;  she 
would  go  and  sit  by  her  the  hour  together,  labori 
ously  repeating  to  her  the  news,  and  answering  her 
reiterated  questions  ;  but  doubtless  it  was  a  respite 
to  escape  at  intervals  into  the  freshness  and  liberty 
devised  for  her  by  cousin  Elizabeth. 

Miss  Haven  had  brought  a  bunch  of  flowers 
from  Mrs.  Sholto,  with  that  lady's  kind  remem 
brance  for  Miss  Crooke.  Miss  Haven  and  Mrs. 
Sholto  had  driven  together  from  the  station,  and 
the  latter  had  made  the  carriage  wait  at  her  door 
while  she  fetched  a  handful  of  greenhouse  blooms 
from  some  bowl  freshly  filled  with  them,  vivid  in 
beauty  from  their  summering  in  open-air  borders. 


46  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  My  cousin  will  so  like  them,"  Miss  Haven  had 
said  with  her  thanks  ;  and  then  Mrs.  Sholto  had 
answered  graciously,  "  Give  them  to  her  with  my 
kind  remembrance." 

Sarah  Crooke  had  taken  them  with  a  delight 
accentuated  by  the  unexpected  personal  attention. 
"  They  drive  by,  and  drive  by,"  she  had  said  to 
herself  often,  "  and  never  know  or  care  that  there 
are  any  bodies  in  the  plain  old  houses  on  the  way, 
or  any  souls  in  the  bodies." 

Now,  unawares,  by  a  simple,  single  act,  a  seal  — 
or  an  anointing  to  charity  —  was  laid  upon  the 
the  querulous  lips  again,  and  a  new  individual  in 
demnity  was  secured  against  unfavoring  "  they 
say's  "  with  Sarah  Crooke.  She  had  this  sterling- 
good  about  her  :  she  could  not  talk,  or  think,  two 
ways  ;  though  either  of  her  only  two  ways  was  suf 
ficiently  decided.  Miss  Haven  played  carefully 
upon  the  right  string  ;  she  talked  herself,  she  liked 
to.  "  An  old  maid  must  chatter,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
a  Christian  woman  need  not  spatter." 

She  talked  a  good  deal  elsewhere  about  cousin 
Sarah  ;  always  "  cousin  ;  "  and  people  knew  better 
than  they  had  ever  done  before  what  had  got  shut 
up  and  hidden  away  by  her  disabilities.  She 
brought  her  own  visitors  over  into  Miss  Sarah's 
room,  and  presently  they  began  to  inquire  at  the 
door  for  "the  ladies."  At  first  it  was  to  please 


IN  THE  ORCHAED.  47 

Miss  Haven ;  then  it  pleased  themselves  to  see 
how  they  could  give  pleasure  to  one  so  deprived  ; 
and  the  discovery  of  her  harmlessness  lent  the  fas 
cination  that  is  found  in  approaching  some  creature 
supposed  dangerous,  but  proving  gentle. 

"  It 's  a  good,  still  afternoon  for  outdoors,"  said 
Miss  Crooke,  contentedly.  Miss  Haven  had  been 
to  the  bank  and  the  broker's  for  her,  in  the  city, 
and  had  brought  out  to  her  some  mortgage  inter 
est,  and  the  cash  for  a  check,  and  her  bank-book. 
These  Miss  Sarah  was  looking  over,  as  she  lay 
back  easily  in  the  long  chair,  with  her  feet  upon 
the  rest  under  an  afghan.  "No  wind  to  pester 
these  things,  or  the  cards." 

"  Four  kings  —  eighty  !  "  called  Rill,  in  her 
clear  young  voice,  triumphantly. 

"  And  four  queens,"  responded  Miss  Haven,  put 
ting  up  her  score. 

"  You  always  have  the  queens,  and  I  the  kings," 
said  Kill,  as  they  played  on.  "  No ;  ten  and  a 
royal  marriage  !  You  played  right  into  my  hand. 
But  have  n't  you  forgotten  to  put  up  your  ov/n 
bezique  ?  A  hundred  for  aces,  and  sixty  for  queens, 
and  you  were  two  hundred  and  fifty  :  yes,  you 
ought  to  be  at  the  ninety.  You  don't  look  out  for 
yourself  half  the  time."  And  so  the  deals  and  the 
game  went  on. 

Miss    Crooke   had   read   over   her   papers,  and 


48  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

counted  her  bank-bills,  and  put  them  back  into 
the  envelope  ;  then  she  pushed  all  down  carefully 
into  a  deep,  brown  silk  bag,  whose  strings  she 
drew  close  and  tied  in  a  knot,  placing  the  whole 
under  her  cushion ;  after  which,  with  a  serene 
mind,  she  listened  awhile  to  the  bezique  announce 
ments,  inwardly  counting  up  a  different  set  of 
figures  which  belonged  to  the  comfortable  little 
investments  and  deposits  she  had  been  reviewing; 
and  so,  gradually,  fell  fast  asleep. 

"  How  hot  it  grows  !  "  said  Kill  Raye. 

"  Yes ;  this  stillness  is  like  a  blanket :  but  it  is 
quite  shady  ;  the  sun  has  gone  in." 

"  I  should  think  it  had !  Miss  Haven,  turn 
round  and  look  at  that  cloud  !  " 

A  low,  black  heap  was  rolling  steadily  over  from 
the  westward.  A  wind  was  behind  it  that  would 
come  here  presently.  Under  the  trees  the  shadow 
thickened  fast.  Every  bird  had  hidden  in  some 
leafy  nook.  There  was  not  a  sound  nor  a  stir,  ex 
cept  their  own  movement  and  voices. 

"  It  will  be  here  in  three  minutes.  We  must 
get  cousin  Sarah  in." 

The  cards  were  shuffled  together,  and  dropped 
upon  the  chair  from  which  Miss  Haven  had  hur 
riedly  arisen. 

As  she  came  to  Miss  Crooke's  side,  a  swift  flash 
shot  from  the  blackness  that  mounted  overhead,-  a 


7^   THE  ORCHARD.  49 

quivering  dazzle  of  flame  wrapped  air  and  earth 
in  an  instant's  frightful  illumination,  and  a  crash 
of  thunder  fell  like  an  avalanche. 

Miss  Crooke,  startled  from  sleep,  —  afraid  of 
lightning  even  when  under  shelter,  hardly  able  to 
gain  her  feet,  and  wholly  helpless  to  hasten,  —  was 
nearly  paralyzed  with  the  shock  of  terror. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  INTRODUCE   ME." 

RADNE  came  running  to  the  women  in  the  or 
chard,  her  apron  over  her  head,  for  flimsy  defense, 
while  the  big  raindrops  drove  like  bullets,  solid 
and  far  apart,  straight  down  among  them  to  the 
ground. 

"  Why,  ain't  you  all  crazy,  I  should  like  to 
know  !  "  she  ejaculated,  rushing  to  the  rescue.  She 
took  Miss  Crooke  right  up  into  her  arms,  and  fled 
staggering  back  with  her.  The  others  brought 
what  they  could,  and  followed.  But  the  brown 
silk  bag  fell,  forgotten  for  the  instant  in  the  scurry, 
as  Miss  Haven  seized  pillow  and  afghau  from  the 
chair. 

For  the  first  few  minutes  of  the  tempest,  when 
hail  began  to  dash  against  the  window  panes  with 
almost  shattering  force,  and  the  outside  world  pal 
pitated  from  blaze  to  blackness  with  the  rapidity 
of  some  gigantic  nictitation,  nobody  thought  of  any 
little  accessory  thing.  Yet  when  Miss  Sarah  did 
cry  out,  "  Oh,  my  money  and  my  papers !  "  the  dis- 


"INTRODUCE  ME."  51 

may  of  the  serious  mischance  added  itself,  not 
without  a  touch  of  absurd  Shakespereaii  associa 
tion,  to  the  panic  of  the  storm. 

Cushions  and  wraps  were  tossed  over  and 
shaken.  The  great  brown  silk  bag  was  not  among 
them.  "  My  ducats,"  or  their  representatives,  no 
where  appeared. 

"  They  '11  all  be  paper-mill  pulp  !  Oh,  my  gra 
cious,  what  a  flash !  We  '11  all  be  killed,  and 
I  sha'n't  have  a  cent  o'  money  left  to  live  on !  " 

Not  one  of  the  other  women  noticed  that  Rill 
Raye  had  slipped  out  of  the  room.  They  all 
stumbled  against  each  other,  and  flapped  things 
in  each  other's  faces.  Before  they  missed  the  girl 
she  stood  among  them  again,  with  rain-wet  face  and 
locks,  and  garments  heavily  dashed  with  water. 

"  Here  it  is,"  she  said  quietly,  and  held  out  the 
recovered  treasure  to  Miss  Sarah. 

"  The  Lord  and  the  land  !  "  cried  that  astonished 
woman.  "  You  ain't  ben  down  that  orchard  in 
this  flame  and  fury !  " 

"  It  did  n't  take  three  minutes,"  Rill  answered 
coolly. 

Somehow  their  fears  laid  themselves  down  be 
fore  her  bravery.  They  were  calm  and  still  after 
that ;  only  now  and  again  Sarah  Crooke  would 
ejaculate,  "  Well,  I  'm  beat !  I  have  n't  got  a  word 
to  say !  Rill  Raye,  you  come  and  sit  by  me,"  she 


52  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

commanded,  when  they  drew  up  at  last  for  such  a 
repast  as  they  could  make  without  the  agency  of 
the  cooking-stove,  which  was  approached  only  for 
a  hurried  filling  of  a  pitcher  with  boiling  water 
for  their  tea.  They  drank  it  without  spoons,  and 
they  ate  short  biscuit  and  sponge  cake  without 
knives  and  forks,  for  the  livid  lightning  still 
streamed  and  pulsed,  and  the  rain  beat  and  thun 
der  rent  with  those  occasional  splitting  sounds  that 
told  of  some  material  thing  that  had  made  a  link 
between  angry  sky  and  trembling  earth. 

Radne  had  helped  Mrs.  Crooke  to  bed.  "  They  'd 
better  all  go,"  the  old  lady  had  said  tremulously. 
"  Make  'em  all  go  to  bed,  Radne.  If  the'  's  any 
place  safe,  it 's  feathers."  Radne  had  closed  the 
wooden  shutters  in  the  bedroom,  and  brought  a 
light ;  then  the  simple  soul,  hidden  away  and  not 
seeing  the  storm  any  longer,  quieted  down  and  fell 
asleep. 

"  It 's  set  in  for  a  night  of  it.  You  can't  get 
home,"  said  Sarah  Crooke  to  Rill.  The  latter  was 
resuming  her  boots,  that  had  been  slid  across  the 
kitchen  floor  by  Radne  to  a  drying-place  beneath 
the  stove,  and  replaced  by  a  big  pair  of  flannel 
shoes  belonging  to  Miss  Sarah. 

"  I  must.  Aunt  Amelia  will  have  been  awf  ully 
frightened,  and  if  I  don't  get  back  she  won't  sleep 
a  wink  all  niffht." 


"INTRODUCE  ME."  53 

"  It  can  hardly  last  like  this,"  said  Miss  Haven. 
"  And  if  anything  can  get  about,  the  express  will 
come  with  my  parcels  from  town.  We  can  send 
word  over  by  Thrape." 

"  I  can  go  with  Thrape,"  said  Rill,  simply. 

Miss  Sarah  Crooke  had  a  sudden  insight  of  how 
it  came  to  pass,  perhaps,  that  this  girl  was  apt  to 
do  queer  things.  Methods  were  indifferent  when 
motive  was  controlling,  and  henceforth,  she  thought, 
she  would  trust  her  for  some  decent  sort  of  motive 
in  almost  anything. 

Rill  did  go  home  with  Thrape,  riding  by  his 
side  on  the  high  front  seat  of  his  heavy  covered 
wagon  ;  the  storm  still  flashing  and  growling,  and 
renewing  itself  suddenly  at  intervals. 

"  And  she  don't  know  but  half  his  load  is  crow 
bars  and  cooking-stoves.  He  carries  everything." 

Not  many  days  later  visitors  came  in  with  a  new 
story  ;  the  ride  with  the  young  expressman,  with 
out  date  or  explanation.  Miss  Crooke  crushed  it. 

"You  may  just  leave  that  right  there,"  she  said. 
"  I  'm  knowing  to  the  whole  of  it.  It  was  Wednes 
day  night,  in  that  thunderstorm,  when  neither  you 
nor  I  would  have  crossed  the  doorstone  for  a  gold 
mine.  She  went  home  from  this  house,  to  keep 
her  aunt  from  being  scared  ;  and  she  took  the  only 
way  there  was.  When  there  ain't  but  one  way, 
and  a  thing  's  to  be  done,  she  don't  stop  at  it,  if 


54  .1   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

it  is  over  a  fence.  Rill  Raye  has  got  a  good  heart, 
and  she  's  clear  spunk  to  the  backbone !  " 

"  Well,  you  do  surprise  me,  Miss  Crooke.  You 
did  n't  use  to  talk  in  that  way  about  Rill  Raye. 
Ain't  the  wind  kind  o'  got  round  lately  ?  " 

"Yes,  Miss  Upson,  it  has.  And  you  need  n't 
mind  callin'  me  a  weathercock  if  you  'd  like  to, 
for  I  presume  likely  I  am.  I  've  had  as  pertickler 
opportunities  to  judge  as  if  I  was ;  and  I  don't 
never  insist  on  p'intin'  east  after  it  fairly  blows 
west." 

Putnam  King  heartily  enjoyed  the  whole  story. 
"  I  don't  see  but  you  've  got  a  plant  here,  for  your 
gospel-gossip  manufacture,"  he  said.  "  Only  all 
the  raw  material  won't  be  of  the  Rill  Raye  sort, 
exactly.  A  girl,"  he  added  rather  slowly  after  a 
pause,  "  who  would  go  through  fire  and  water  for 
an  uncomfortable  old  aunt  whom  she  does  n't  pre 
tend  to  be  fond  of,  —  or  for  a  Miss  Sally  Crooke, 
—  what  would  n't  she  do  for  anybody  she  really 
cared  for  ?  " 

"  She  would  go  through  moral  fire  and  water. 
She  would  burn  and  drown,  inside,  for  —  them." 
Miss  Haven  sacrificed  a  bit  of  grammar  to  her 
hesitation  in  specifying  gender. 

Putnam  King  went  on  sketching  queer  outlines 
of  faces  with  his  aunt's  stylo  upon  her  blotting-pad 
for  several  minutes,  without  saying  a  word.  Then 


"INTRODUCE  ME."  55 

he  remarked,  nonchalantly,  "  If  you  don't  intro 
duce  me  to  Miss  Itaye,  aunt  Elizabeth,  I  shall  go 
and  call  on  Miss  Bonable." 

Miss  Haven,  dear,  innocent  old  maid,  had  not 
the  least  idea  of  what  she  was  accomplishing ;  yet 
she  could  n't  have  done  it  better,  so  far,  if  she 
had  tried. 

"  Of  course  I  '11  introduce  you,  Put,"  she  said, 
"  whenever  it  happens  so." 

With  all  her  simplicity  as  to  live  wires  of  occult 
influence  in  such  matters,  aunt  Elizabeth  knew 
very  well  that  it  would  never  do  to  make  any  ob 
vious  difficulty  about  this. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  NOW    YOU    KNOW." 

IT  happened  so  very  shortly  after,  and  without 
any  intervention  of  aunt  Elizabeth's.  History  re 
peated  itself. 

Another  summer  gust  came  up  after  tea  one 
evening,  when  Miss  Haven  and  Rill  had  settled  to 
their  now  regularly  established  game.  A  whirl  of 
wind  tore  in  without  warning  through  the  open 
window,  sent  the  light  curtain  draperies  streaming 
through  their  looped  ribbon  fastenings  straight 
into  the  room,  enveloping  dangerously  for  a  mo 
ment  the  tall  double-burner  lamp  which  Rill  caught 
quickly  with  both  hands,  averting  a  catastrophe. 
Their  cards  were  swept  to  the  floor,  a  growl  of 
thunder  rolled  round  the  horizon,  and  heavy,  sep 
arate  drops  of  rain  struck  like  shot  upon  the 
panes  and  thudded  upon  the  porch  roof. 

Rill  snatched  up  scarf  and  hat.  "  That 's  for 
me,  again,"  she  said.  "  Don't  mind  ;  I  've  got  my 
parasol." 

"  You  'd  better  wait,"  expostulated  Miss  Haven. 


"NOW  YOU  KNO\V."  57 

"  I  can't ;  there  's  no  Thrape,  this  time,  and  it 
would  n't  do  twice,  if  there  were.  Thrape  's  very 
good-looking- ;  and  he  was  very  polite  when  he 
handed  me  down,  with  aunt  Amelia  standing  in 
the  doorway.  She  was  n't  impressed  with  simple 
gratitude  to  either  of  us ;  she 's  so  extremely  apt  to 
think  there  's  something  in  it,  —  millions  of  things, 
besides  me  and  the  right  one.  Good-night,  dear 
Miss  Haven.  Please  shut  me  out  quick."  And 
she  slipped  through  the  small  opening  which  she 
allowed  in  the  door,  helping  herself  to  pull  it  after 
her  against  the  increasing  drive  of  the  slanting 
rain.  Miss  Haven  had  to  return,  a  little  dazed 
with  the  sudden  upshot  of  affairs,  and  pick  up  her 
bezique  cards. 

Rill  Raye  stepped  off  the  porch  into  the  dark 
ness,  full  against  the  broad  shoulders  of  a  man 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  two  steps,  furling  an 
umbrella.  The  girl  started,  sprang  back,  and  the 
figure  turned.  It  was  too  dark  for  them  to  see 
each  other's  faces ;  but  they  were  not  altogether  in 
the  dark,  either. 

"  Miss  Rill  Raye  ?  "  asked  Putnam  King,  at  a 
tolerably  certain  venture. 

"  Yes ;  I  'm  like  the  witches,  always  out  in  a 
storm.  I  must  hurry.  Good-evening,  Mr.  King." 

"  I  can't  say  tliat,  under  the  present  dispensation 
of  the  elements ;  "  and  the  umbrella  went  quickly 


58  .1  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

up  again,  its  owner  leaning  it  over  Rill's  head, 
marching  along  the  gravel  walk  with  her  to  the 
little  front  gate.  They  were  outside  it  and  fairly 
moving  up  the  street  before  she  could  finish  her 
expostulation.  The  introduction  was  made  ;  all  in 
a  minute  they  were  quite  well  acquainted.  Miss 
Elizabeth's  simple  prudence  of  procrastination  had 
beautifully  prepared  matters. 

"  Is  this  your  way?  I  thought  my  aunt  told  me 
you  lived  on  the  North  Road  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  turn,  presently.  Brook  Lane 
zigzags  across." 

Inwardly,  Rill  was  saying  to  herself,  "  This  is 
worse  than  Thrape.  What  shall  I  do  with  him 
when  we  get  to  the  door  ?  " 

"  Do  you  often  go  home  alone,  all  this  way,  in 
the  evenings?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  evenings  are  harmless  in  Wewachet. 
Sometimes,  though,  I  take  an  express  wagon." 

"  I  heard  of  that,"  Mr.  King  said. 

If  he  could  have  told  her  all  he  had  thought 
about  it  since  hearing,  his  answer  would  have  been 
less  succinct.  He  held  the  umbrella  further  over 
on  the  girl's  side  and  well  before  her.  Wind  and 
rain  were  in  their  faces,  but  their  force  had  mo 
mentarily  abated. 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  dividing  things  fairly," 
remarked  Rill  presently,  in  a  comical  little  tone  of 


"NOW   YOU  KNOW."  59 

aggrievement.  "  I  have  all  the  umbrella  and  you 
have  all  the  rain." 

"  It  is  n't  easy  to  divide  here.  We  '11  do  better 
farther  along.  How  the  street-lamps  flicker !  " 

"  Yes ;  and  how  far  apart  they  are !  There 
are  n't  any  at  all  upon  the  lane  ;  that 's  why  I 
come  home  by  lightning  —  when  it  is  n't  moon 
light." 

"  You  must  know  the  way  well." 

"  Every  step  and  stone  of  it.  Mr.  King,"  she 
added  suddenly,  half  stopping,  "  I  'm  afraid  you  '11 
get  lost  going  back.  Do  let  me  finish  alone,  now. 
The  rain  is  really  holding  up." 

"  There  will  be  light  enough,  and  the  rain  is  not 
holding  up,"  Putnam  King  answered  with  decision. 

The  lightning,  sheeting  suddenly  the  cloud-hung 
heavens,  and  illuminating  the  tree  vistas  and  the 
pathway  before  their  feet,  verified  his  first  words. 

"  And  besides,"  Rill  continued,  as  the  darkness 
covered  them  up  again,  "  aunt  Amelia  always 
thinks  I  do  things  on  purpose." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  King.  "  I  do." 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  purpose  in  his  tone  at 
this  moment. 

"  But  she  supposes  some  other  purpose." 

"  That  often  happens  with  many  people,  I  find. 
If  we  altered  our  course  for  that,  there  very  soon 
would  n't  be  any  purpose  left." 


60  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  Mr.  King,"  Rill  began  again,  "  would  you  mind 
leaving  me  at  the  last  corner  ?  " 

"  I  will  mind  anything  you  tell  me  that  is  rea 
sonable.  I  will  leave  you  as  soon  as  I  see  you 
safe." 

"  Thank  you." 

The  tone  had  changed  between  the  two.  Rill's 
bit  of  habitual  daring  and  self  -  assertion  had 
dropped  out  of  her  speech,  and  in  words  and  ac 
cent  she  yielded  to  a  new-found  mastery.  She 
took  gratefully  a  consent  where  she  would  ordi 
narily  have  defied  refusal. 

The  nearest  corner  was  in  full  view  from  Miss 
Bonable's  cottage,  which  stood  endwise  upon  the 
street.  When  she  let  Cyrilla  in  Miss  Bonable 
stood  and  peered  into  the  darkness  over  the  girl's 
shoulder,  chin  up  and  on  tiptoe. 

"  What  did  you  come  on  this  time  ?  "  she  de 
manded. 

"  These  two,"  answered  Cyrilla,  showing  her  lit 
tle  feet,  with  an  alternate  lift  of  damp  boots. 

"  And  not  a  drop  on  head  or  shoulders,  and  this 
thing  has  n't  been  opened  !  "  Aunt  Amelia  passed 
her  hand  along  the  folded  parasol.  "Don't  tell 
me  !  " 

"  I  will  not,"  answered  Cyrilla,  quietly,  making 
her  way  in  past  Miss  Bonable,  who  had  still  stared 
into  the  dark  during  her  test  manual  of  Rill's  per 
son  and  equipments. 


YOU  KNOW.1'  61 

A  parting  flash  of  the  retreating  shower  lit  the 
air  suddenly  and  showed  a  man's  figure  standing 
at  the  turn,  facing  toward  the  cottage  and  lingering 
with  a  watching  air. 

"  I  might  have  known,  —  and  I  did  know  !  " 
said  Miss  Bonable,  closing  the  door  and  coming 
back  into  the  sitting-room.  "  Why  can't  you  ever 
tell  the  honest  truth  ?  " 

"  You  said,  '  Don't  tell  me ; '  and  the  honest 
truth  is  exactly  what  you  never  will  believe.  Aunt 
Amelia,  must  I  be  crooked  because  you  won't  let 
me  walk  plain  and  straight  ?  " 

Cyrilla  spoke  with  passion ;  she  contemned  her 
self  and  aunt  Amelia  at  that  moment.  She  went  off 
up  to  her  own  room  and  fastened  herself  in  there. 

Aunt  Amelia  sat  down,  angry  and  pale.  She 
crossed  her  hands  upon  her  lap,  let  her  head,  still 
erect,  just  touch  the  top  of  her  chair-back,  and  her 
eyes  fix  themselves  in  a  level  line  across  the  room 
upon  nothing.  It  was  an  intense  moment  with 
her.  She  was  posing  all  unconscious,  as  we  often 
do,  for  the  registering  —  in  a  light  which  photo 
graphs  more  than  sunlight  can  —  of  an  instant  of 
vital  experience.  Her  lips  were  dropped  in  a 
curve  of  hopeless,  resentful  dejection.  From  un 
der  her  level  lids  shot  a  swerveless  look  of  wrathful 
protest.  She  sat  so  for  fully  fifteen  minutes,  all 
alone.  Then  she  drew  in  the  Ions;  remonstrance 


62  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

of  her  gaze,  lifted  her  prone  hands,  rested  her 
elbows  on  her  lap,  and  dropped  her  face  into  her 
spread  fingers. 

"  The  child  I  wanted  to  have  loved  so !  "  the 
words  broke  out  through  sobs.  Aunt  Amelia  cried, 
and  cried,  and  cried  ;  and  nobody  knew  but  herself 
and  God  the  deep  wells  of  her  life  whence  rushed 
those  bitter  tears. 

The  next  day,  when  Miss  Haven  came  in,  she 
was  as  hard  as  ever.  Rill  was  out. 

Miss  Haven  hoped  Miss  Raye  had  reached  home 
without  harm. 

"  She  was  n't  wet  —  to  speak  of,"  Miss  Bonable 
answered  stiffly.  "  I  'd  more  than  half  as  lief  she 
would  have  been.  I  don't  like  these  tramps,  even 
ings,"  she  went  on  with  a  sudden,  harsh  frankness, 
"  if  't  is  to  your  house.  That  was  better,  I  thought, 
than  being  off  amongst  the  girls,  and  alwers  coming 
home  caperin'  writh  a  lot.  But  one  to  herself  is 
worse,  and  I  believe  it  was  that  dentist  man,  this 
time.  He  stood  at  the  corner  while  she  came  in 
alone.  Why  don't  he  come  liere  if  he  wants  to 
see  her?" 

That  was  really  funny ;  but  Miss  Haven  only 
half  smiled,  for  pity  of  aunt  Amelia.  She  would 
answer  that  question  later,  may  be. 

"  Rill  was  alone  when  she  left  me  last  evening," 
she  said,  gently.  "  She  hurried  away  in  the  storm 


"XOW  YOU  KNOW."  63 

lest  you  should  be  anxious ;  and  if  any  one  joined 
her  afterward,  I  do  not  think  it  was  Dr.  Harriman. 
I  am  pretty  sure  he  was  elsewhere." 

Now,  concerning  Dr.  Harriman's  alibi,  Miss 
Haven  could  hardly  have  knowledge  or  proof ;  it 
only  did  occur  to  her  to  associate  Putnam  King's 
arrival  some  twenty  minutes  or  more  after  Rill's 
departure,  with  her  possible  escort  home.  That 
Putnam  had  said  nothing  simply  gave  her  a  little 
more  to  think  of  in  a  different  or  further  way.  "  I 
think  her  meeting  any  one  was  purely  accidental," 
she  said. 

"  She  's  dreadful  liable  to  accidents,"  said  Miss 
Bonable,  grimly.  "  And  they  have  been  dental, 
lately,"  she  added,  strangling  a  smile.  "  As  to 
me,  much  she  seemed  to  care  about  my  being  anx 
ious  after  she  got  here !  Miss  Haven,  some  girls 
would  walk  over  red-hot  layvey  if  they  could  only 
be  walked  with !  It  is  n't  that  I  think  any  real 
harm  of  Rill  —  so  far  ;  but  it 's  the  disposition.  It 
was  her  mother's  way,  and  it  scares  me.  She  's  in 
her  mother's  tracks,  and  I  know  what  they  lead  to." 

The  last  sentences  seemed  to  come  from  her  lips 
of  themselves  ;  her  face  was  strained  and  absent ; 
she  did  not  look  at  Miss  Haven  as  she  spoke. 

"  Miss  Bonable  !     Your  own  sister  !  " 

Then  Miss  Bonable  did  look  round  at  her  friend, 
and  met  surprised,  indignant,  yet  still  pitying  eyes. 


64  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"She  wasn't  my  sister,"  she  said.  "Now  you 
know  ;  and  you  know  more  than  anybody  else  in 
Wewachet,  except  myself.  Rill  never  knew,  and 
I  don't  mean  she  shall.  I  don't  know  what  makes 
me  tell  you,  only  you  seem  as  if  you  held  out  your 
heart  to  me,  and  what 's  in  mine  goes  into  it. 
You  can  keep  it  there,  I  suppose." 

Still  as  grim  and  stiff  as  ever ;  if  she  had  been 
bidding  Miss  Haven  go  about  her  business,  she 
could  not  have  been  more  uncompromising  than  in 
uttering  this  confidence. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Bonable !  "  said  Elizabeth  Ha 
ven.  There  was  no  less  of  appeal  and  sympathy 
than  of  astonishment,  in  the  exclamation.  The 
open  heart  was  still  held  out,  and,  as  if  she  could 
not  help  it,  Miss  Amelia  poured  forth  further- from 
her  own.  It  was  the  bleeding  of  the  wound,  how 
ever  ;  it  was  not  with  any  voluntary  gush  of 
warmth. 

"  He  did  marry  my  sister,  first,  instead  of  me. 
We  were  promised  ;  but  Esther  was  taking  and 
pretty,  —  she  could  n't  help  that ;  I  don't  suppose 
he  could  help  it,  either.  I  never  had  her  coaxing 
ways  ;  I  was  fair-looking,  and  I  just  meant  what  I 
said,  that  was  all.  It 's  no  new  story  ;  I  've  read  a 
hundred  like  it ;  I  suppose  they  're  happening  all 
round;  but  I  lived  mine,  —  that 's  the  difference. 
When  I  found  out  what  they  wanted  I  gave  her  all 


"NOW   YOU  KNOW."  65 

the  things  I  had  got  ready  —  and  been  so  busy 
about  that  I  had  not  noticed  sooner.  I  gave  her 
my  wedding  gown  ;  she  'd  rather  not  have  had  that, 
but  I  made  her.  '  If  you  take  part,  you  take  all,' 
I  said.  I  would  n't  let  her  off.  It  wasn  't  Church 
form  they  were  married  by,  —  it  was  Congrega 
tional.  But  I  remembered  one  sentence  in  the 
Episcopal  that  run  through  my  head  all  the  time 
we  stood  before  the  minister :  '  Who  giveth  this 
woman  to  be  married  to  this  man  ?  '  I  gave  them 
both  to  each  other  —  and  it  was  giving  away  all 
that  might  ever  have  been  soft  or  sweet  in  my  life. 
I  've  been  just  the  hard  old  maid  folks  know  here, 
ever  since.  But  there 's  another  Amelia  Bonable 
that  never  had  her  life  out  fairly  yet,  and  that  has 
got  to  rise  up  somehow  in  the  last  day  and  begin 
again.  Know  each  other?  Folks  ask  that  about 
the  next  world.  As  if  we  knew  the  least  bit  what 
to  look  for  half  the  time  !  It  '11  generally  be  some 
body  else,  I  guess ;  if  we  're  sure  of  ourselves,  it 's 
as  much  as  we  shall  be  !  " 

Miss  Bonable  was  thinking  aloud  some  of  the 
thoughts  that  had  filled  and  chafed  her  silent  soli 
tudes.  Miss  Haven  did  not  interrupt  her. 

"  Sometimes  1  think  her  conscience  broke  her 
heart  when  she  saw  how  altered  I  was,  and  how  I 
stayed  altered.  She  only  lived  two  years.  And 
then  Marcus  Raye  was  ashamed  and  afraid  to  come 


66  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

back  to  me,  even  like  a  brother.  lie  kept  off,  and 
there  was  no  word  for  me  to  say ;  and,  in  a  year 
after,  he  married  that  Loraine  Braitway.  He 
must  have  been  wild  ;  it  was  a  kind  of  making 
away  with  himself.  Her  name  was  up  then,  for 
her  flirtings  and  jiltings ;  and  afterwards  it  was 
\vorse,  —  as  bad  as  things  can  be  with  a  woman. 
She  went  off,  out  West  somewhere,  —  nobody  knows. 
And  he  turned  straight  the  other  way  and  went  to 
Australia.  Before  he  went  he  came  to  me,  —  they  'd 
lived  on  in  Maplefield,  down  East,  where  all  the 
first  of  it  happened,  and  I  'd  come  here,  where  uncle 
Bonable's  folks  used  to  live.  Nobody  in  Wewachet 
knew,  when  he  left  the  child  here,  that  it  was  n't 
my  sister's  ;  so  I  've  held  my  tongue  and  given  her 
the  advantage.  She  's  got  a  good  deal  of  Mark  in 
her,  but  the  thought  of  the  mother  keeps  me  on  the 
tenterhooks." 

"  Rill  does  n't  know  you ;  and  you  do  not  trust 
her."  Miss  Haven  did  not  stop  to  put  in  words  of 
sympathy  or  admiration  ;  she  passed  without  delay 
to  the  point  that  vitally  concerned  the  two. 

"That's  it ;  and  that  is  how  it  has  to  be.  I  'm 
glad  I  've  told  you  ;  I  'm  glad  one  person  under 
stands,  and  that  it 's  you.  It 's  a  comfort  to  have 
somebody  know  the  other  of  me.  I  used  to  be 
Amy  —  when  I  was  alive.  You  would  n't  think 
so  now." 


"NOW  YOU  KNOW:-  67 

Miss  Haven  leaned  toward  her,  took  her  hand 
and  kissed  her.  "  My  dear  Miss  Amy !  "  she  said. 
Then  the  hard  face  quivered,  a  change  ran  over 
it,  the  straightened  cheeks  took  softer  curves,  and 
hot  tears  —  a  baptism  of  tenderness  —  ran  over 
them. 

"  I  thank  you  for  letting  me  see  your  hidden, 
beautiful  self,"  Miss  Haven  told  her,  still  keeping 
the  poor,  feverish  hand  that  moved  restlessly  in  her 
kindly  clasp. 

"  You  won't "  —  Miss  Bonable  began,  and  then 
lifting  her  eyes  to  her  friend's,  "  No,  I  '11  not  ask 
you,"  she  said.  "  You  don't  hear  for  curiosity,  and 
you  won't  tell  for  talk  !  " 

"No,"  said  Miss  Haven.  "You  have  trusted 
me,  and  I  will  be  faithful ;  but  to  be  faithful, 
might  be,  some  time,  to  speak.  More  harm  is  done 
sometimes  by  keeping  secret  than  by  repeating. 
And  there  is  one  thing  I  shall  take  my  first  chance, 
and  every  chance,  to  say.  There  is  a  noble  woman 
among  these  Wewachet  people,  of  whom  they  do 
not  know  the  half.  They  shall  know  that  they  do 
not  know.  I  like  to  stimulate  interest  in  the  right 
direction  ;  I  like  to  set  the  best  to  finding  out  the 
other  best." 

"  Don't  say  anything  to  Kill." 

"  I  shall  say  a  great  many  things  to  Rill.  She 
shall  not  be  cheated  of  her  duty  and  her  gratitude. 


68  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

But  I  shall  bide  my  time,  and  you  need   not  be 
afraid." 

Somehow,  when  Miss  Haven  left  her,  Miss  Bon- 
able  felt  as  if  she  had  only  once  more  told  her 
story  to  the  Lord,  and  got  a  word  from  Him  she 
had  not  had  before.  She  was  not  afraid  to  leave 
it  so. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ANOTHER    INTRODUCTION. 

THERE  is  more  than  one  thread  to  the  simplest 
yarn.  It  is  time  to  show  a  little  of  Dr.  Harrimau's 
relations  with  our  small  chronicle,  and  of  how  they 
were  already  affecting  that  gentleman.  It  is  as 
true  of  a  man  as  of  a  woman,  that  with  some  really 
fine  points  of  character  there  may  undeniably  co 
exist  some  frivolities.  Dr.  Harriman  knew  very 
well  that  he  was  handsome  and  noticeable  in  many 
ways,  and  that  his  coming  into  any  new  scene  or 
neighborhood  was  apt  to  make  a  certain  sensation. 
He  was  aware  that  young  feminine  eyes  glanced  — 
or  more  than  glanced  —  at  him  with  a  favoring  in 
terest,  and  that  the  possibilities  of  life  suggested 
themselves  more  or  less  dimly  or  positively,  with 
more  or  less  of  delicious  wonder  and  speculation, 
to  the  youthful  feminine  mind  at  his  approach. 
He  knew  that  the  set  of  his  Sunday  coat  across  his 
shapely  shoulders  was  an  august  and  sacred  thing 
in  the  vision  of  these  girls,  whose  own  little  mys 
teries  of  fold  and  ribbon  and  trinket  were  managed 


70  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

in  conscious  counterpart,  and  meant  to  be  sweetly, 
if  not  as  imposingly,  impressive  in  their  turn. 
And  Dr.  Harriman  was  not  indifferent  to  the 
pleasure  of  being  universally  and  instantly  wel 
come,  or  to  the  fact  that  words  from  his  lips,  or 
little  courtesies  of  course  at  his  hands,  had  the  deli 
cate  charm  aimed  at  by  Sam  Weller  in  his  love 
letters.  He  measured  words  and  attentions  judi 
ciously,  for  the  most  part,  reserving  the  more  for 
the  time  and  person  that  should  find  him  in  sober 
earnest  to  give.  He  did  not  intend  to  give  yet 
awhile ;  he  did  not  mean  to  marry  until  he  had 
thoroughly  and  deliberately  arranged  for  the  com 
fort  of  marriage. 

It  is  perhaps  a  hazardous  matter  for  the  femi 
nine  pen  to  meddle  with,  —  the  inward  working  of 
little  weaknesses  and  possible  noblenesses  in  mas 
culine  character  ;  but  the  meanderings  of  motive 
and  impulse  in  the  human  heart  are  always  human, 
and  it  may  be  that  the  man  or  woman  nature  is  on 
either  side  as  a  key  to  the  bolt  which  bars  the  se 
crecies  of  the  other.  Coquetry  in  a  woman  is  the 
pleasure  of  assurance  that  she  can  cause  by  her 
attraction  the  seeking  and  asking  side  of  creation 
to  come  to  her  feet  with  wish  and  plea ;  some 
women  travel  the  whole  round  of  life  as  the  moon 
does  the  firmament,  drawing  a  tide  after  her  which 
—  Heaven  knows  what  good  it  does  her  —  must 


ANOTHER  INTRODUCTION.  71 

simply  ebb  itself  back  at  its  unchanged,  hopeless 
distance  of  two  hundred  and  forty  thousand  miles. 
In  a  man,  this  self-pleasure  is  the  complacency  one 
might  fancy  in  the  sturdier  substance  of  the  earth- 
orb,  which  betrays  no  visible  pulse  or  movement, 
but  which  holds  the  moon  fast  in  her  orbit  at  the 
near  but  maiden  limit  which  she  must  not  pass. 
To  leave  the  insufficient  metaphor,  some  women 
delight  in  little  experimental  evidences  of  what 
they  might  receive  if  they  would  take  it ;  some  men 
in  the  sense  of  power  to  make  serious  claim  if 
they  would.  It  is  fine  to  think  one  may  command 
possession  ;  perhaps  it  is  yet  finer  to  feel  that  one 
can  confer  sublimely,  when  one's  mind  shall  be 
quite  made  up  to  do  so.  On  either  side  there  may 
be,  with  all  preliminary  small  vanity,  material  for 
good,  honest  loving  and  living,  when  the  lighter 
prelude  has  been  played  out.  Meantime  there  re 
main  the  hazards  of  the  edge  tools  and  the  fire. 

Dr.  Robert  Harriman  was  not  a  silly  trifler ;  he 
was  in  earnest  with  his  life  ;  but  he  was  capable  of 
a  certain  surface  amusement  while  the  earnest 
waited.  In  his  case  it  had  to  wait,  or  he  thought 
so  ;  he  was  helping  a  younger  brother  through  col 
lege,  and  he  had  sustained  the  expense  of  a  sister's 
wedding  outfit.  His  mother  needed  no  direct  help 
from  him,  but  he  saved  her  these  demands  which 
would  have  been  too  heavy  for  her.  If  others 


72  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

came,  o£  sickness  or  loss,  he  must  stand  ready.  He 
could  not  marry  yet  awhile.  But  that  the  sublime 
conferring-  was  in  his  hand  he  was  well  reminded 
by  such  girls  as  Connie  Norris  ;  and  their  open 
wiles  and  candid  beguilements  warranted,  he 
thought,  a  certain  degree  of  tolerance,  or  even  in 
nocently  "  tentative  "  response.  With  Cyrilla  Raye 
it  was  different.  Evidently,  here  he  must  make 
approach  if  he  desired  it ;  evidently,  also,  it  would 
have  to  be  with  decided  and  significant  endeavor. 

She  had  kept  her  resolve  to  know  nothing  of 
him  after  that  heroic  introduction,  until  an  every 
day  presentation  should  take  place  in  some  inev 
itable  manner.  Her  dignity  was  reinforced  by  loy 
alty.  She  had  recognized  Connie's  preemption  of 
privilege ;  with  severity  of  honor  she  renounced  in 
terference  with  what  had  been  assumed  in  the  con 
fidence  of  immature,  effusive  friendship. 

She  met  Dr.  Harriman  several  times  before  any 
body  thought  of  the  due  formalities ;  the  tittle- 
tattle  about  her  adventure  had  of  course  put  the 
matter  in  inference  as  a  thing  accomplished.  Peo 
ple  were  rather  conjecturing  how  the  acquaintance 
would  go  on ;  wondering  at  the  mutual  aloofness. 
The  two  themselves  were  quietly  curious  as  to 
whether  any  acquaintance  would  ever  be  begun. 

When  at  length  one  day,  thrown  together  in  a 
call  at  the  same  house,  the  friend  who  received 


ANOTHER  INTRODUCTION.  73 

.them,  embarrassed  at  their  non-recognition,  said 
questioningly,  "  Dr.  Harriman  —  Miss  Raye,  you 
know  Dr.  Harriman  ? "  Rill  answered  from  a 
remote  height,  with  a  carefully  measured  inclina 
tion  of  her  little  head,  "  Certainly ;  I  know  who 
Dr.  Harriman  is  ;  but  we  are  not  acquainted  — 
yet!" 

"  I  thank  you  for  that  last  little  word,  Miss 
Raye  ;  I  hope  it  means  that  you  will  not  refuse  me 
the  privilege  any  longer  ?  "  and  the  doctor,  who 
had  already  risen  from  his  chair,  made  Rill  the 
most  charming  bow,  deferent,  not  emphasized,  and 
bent  full  upon  her,  with  a  certain  admiring  re 
spect,  the  eyes  which  all  the  young  womanhood  of 
Wewachet  voted  "  splendid,"  and  which  the  Irish 
maid  at  the  Norrises  was  known  to  have  declared 
were  "  jist  the  coaxinest  two  she  iver  seen  wid  a 
man." 

Miss  Raye  bowed,  and  smiled  a  little  in  return  ; 
then  made  some  inconsequential  remark  such  as 
hj^phenizes  conversation  when  it  might  otherwise 
fall  apart  too  significantly  into  fragments.  If  she 
had  been  the  most  practiced  woman  of  the  world, 
she  could  not  have  done  it  better  than  from  her 
quick,  girlish  instinct.  Dr.  Harriman  was  freshly 
piqued  to  peculiar  interest. 

Every  time  they  met,  it  was  just  so.  Whatever 
Rill  Raye  might  be  with  other  people,  with  Dr. 


74  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Plarriman  she  was  provoking,  elusive,  cool ;  she 
was  pointedly  out  of  the  lists ;  she  left  him  to 
Connie  and  Sue  and  the  rest  of  them,  who  were 
ready  to  tear  him  into  little  bits  —  of  social  ap 
propriation  —  and  each  run  off  with  a  piece,  like 
chickens  with  a  big,  tough,  tempting  morsel. 

Miss  Haven  perceived  what  she  thought  the 
girl's  judicious  dignity,  based  upon  a  real  indiffer 
ence  ;  and  so  she  was  not  afraid  when  the  two  met 
sometimes  in  her  library.  She  liked  them  both  ;  if 
they  came  to  understand  and  like  each  other  bet- 
ter,  it  would  not  trouble  her  sense  of  responsibil 
ity.  Since  her  talk  with  Miss  Bonable,  it  had 
more  than  once  occurred  to  her  that  a  safe,  right 
marriage  for  Cyrilla  would  be  the  only  solving  of 
the  problem  of  their  troubled,  mutually  mistaking 
lives.  And  she  knew  that  Miss  Bonable's  only 
prejudice  against  the  doctor  lay  in  her  idea  of  the 
present  status  of  his  acquaintance  with  her  niece. 
This  once  properly  established,  above-board,  —  pos 
sibly  even  transferred  to  Miss  Amelia's  own  au 
spices  at  the  cottage,  as  she  had  with  such  naive 
inconsistency  demanded  why  not,  —  there  need  be 
no  hindrance  to  whatever  might  truly  and  happily 
come  of  it. 

Miss  Haven's  thoughts  did  not  meddle  further ; 
she  was  no  deliberate  matchmaker.  Whether  or 
not  the  circumstance  that  neither  Putnam  King 


ANOTHER  INTRODUCTION.  75 

• 

nor  Cyrilla  had  mentioned  to  her  the  little  occur 
rence  of  their  walk  in  the  rain  together,  though 
they  also  had  now  met  on  a  footing  of  regular  ac 
quaintance  under  her  own  countenance,  worked  in 
some  recondite  fashion  with  her  to  cause  this  lean 
ing  toward  the  chance  of  liking  between  Dr.  Har- 
riman  and  Rill  as  the  course  that  the  providence 
for  Rill  might  take,  she  certainly  would  have 
leaned  away  from  any  suggestion  arising  in  this 
other  quarter.  It  was  too  soon  for  Putnam  King 
to  think  of  such  matters.  He  had  to  take  a  man's 
place  in  the  world  before  he  could  ask  a  wife  to 
his  side.  Not  that  money,  or  the  lack  of  it,  would 
be  a  difficulty  ;  half  the  property  of  a  bachelor 
uncle  had  come  to  him,  depriving  him  of  the  spur 
of  need.  This  was  a  loss  to  his  life,  aunt  Eliza 
beth  felt,  which  must  be  replaced  by  some  other 
energy  before  he  could  fairly  or  wisely  accept  the 
things  of  life  that  are  better  after  some  earning 
and  striving.  He  was  simply  aside  from  any  cal 
culation  of  hers  in  this  sort ;  and  undoubtedly  also 
her  desire  for  the  very  best  for  him  in  every  sort 
would  have  led  her  instinctively  to  shrink  in  his 
behalf  from  decision  that  might  be  premature, 
while  opportunities  and  comparison  were  yet  im 
perfect.  She  would  not  choose  a  silk  gown  for 
herself  from  the  very  first  piece  ;  there  might  be  a 
better.  Dr.  Harriman  could  do  his  own  choosing. 


76  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

It  is  difficult  for  mothers  and  aunts  to  understand 
that  their  own  boys  can. 

Meanwhile,  affairs  were  not  very  much  compli 
cated.  The  two  young  men  had  thus  far  rarely 
happened  to  meet  at  Miss  Haven's. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHEAT-SEED    AND   TARE- SEED. 

Miss  NORRIS  had  arranged  to  take  lessons  in 
china  painting  in  town  during  school  vacation. 
She  was  still,  at  eighteen,  a  pupil  in  one  of  the 
fine  seminaries  for  girls  at  the  West  Bay. 

Dr.  Harriman  had  a  regular  day  for  some  city 
business  connected  with  his  profession  ;  he  always 
went  into  town  on  Saturdays. 

Cornelia  Norris  found  Tuesday  and  Saturday 
to  be  the  only  days  she  could  appoint  with  her 
teacher  for  her  china  work. 

So  one  of  the  later  Saturday  afternoon  trains 
brought  these  two  among  other  constant  passen 
gers  to  Wewachet,  almost  invariably.  It  was  al 
most  invariable,  I  mean,  that  they  found  them 
selves  on  the  same  train  ;  though  the  trips  were 
figured  thickly  along  the  time-table  toward  the  end 
of  the  day,  occurring  every  hour  until  after  six, 
when  there  was  a  gap  until  8.30. 

Connie's  lesson  was  over  at  four  ;  but  of  course 
there  were  often  errands,  afterward.  Very  fre- 


78  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

quently  a  train  slipped  off  without  her,  when  she 
had  to  buy  a  ticket  at  the  last  minute,  or  sat  near 
the  sashed  opening  into  the  entrance  hall,  en 
grossed  with  a  new  paper-covered  volume  bought  at 
the  news-stand.  Once  in  a  while  something  had 
been  forgotten,  or  a  parcel  did  not  arrive;  and  she 
turned  her  back  on  train  and  station,  to  go  up 
town  again  before  the  next  scheduled  departure. 
Through  all  these  vicissitudes  and  uncertainties  — 
one  must  use  prepositions  advisedly  -  -  it  rarely 
happened  that  our  two  friends  made  the  Saturday 
return  separately.  And  since,  in  a  common  car, 
one  must  have  a  seatmate,  what  more  natural  than 
that  they  should  easily  drift  together  ? 

I  do  not  think  Dr.  Harriman  can  be  blamed, 
exactly  ;  it  was  really  almost  inevitable  for  him. 
The  nicety  with  which  movements,  observations, 
instinctive  perceptions  and  calculations  can  be 
made,  involving  the  right  coincidences  at  risk  of 
the  utterly  wrong  ones  from,  any  least  failure,  is 
something  to  wonder  at  applaudingly,  and  to  rec 
ognize  as  the  working  of  occult  power,  at  once 
surer  and  more  delicate  than  harsh  mathematics, 
and,  so,  perhaps,  more  particularly  adapted  to  fem 
inine  engineering.  Connie  Norris  scarcely  ever 
came  out  at  a  loss ;  the  wish  of  Dr.  Harriman,  if 
he  had  one,  like  the  heart  of  the  husband  in  the 
Proverbs  of  Solomon,  might  safely  trust  in  her; 


WHEAT-SEED  AND  TARE  SEED.  79 

if  he  now  and  then  played  to  the  same  purpose  by 
some  slight  hint  or  watchfulness,  some  lingering 
or  hastening  on  his  own  part ;  if  it  was  a  pleasant 
bit  of  excitement  to  him  to  find  the  pretty  figure 
and  the  bright,  gladdening  face  at  a  sure  point  for 
being  found  ;  to  check  his  steps  for  the  expected 
greeting,  and  then  have  hers  take  up,  as  of  course, 
their  light  accompaniment  alongside,  as  with  the 
stream  of  outgoing  passengers  they  went  through 
the  great  gates  to  the  train-house  and  the  track 
platform  together  ;  or  to  discover  her  already 
seated  with  a  vacant  place  beside  her,  when  he 
came  half  expectantly  and  fully  expected,  along 
the  car-aisle  just  three  minutes,  perhaps,  after  he 
had  stopped  at  the  news-counter,  and  she  had 
scudded  innocently  on,  observant,  apparently,  of 
nothing  but  the  big  hands  of  the  clock  over  the 
gateway  ;  to  be  shown,  as  they  journeyed,  her  last 
lovely  plaque,  or  exquisite  quaint  jug,  just  brought 
safe  from  the  firing ;  if  all  this  was  put  frankly 
and  cheerily  in  his  way,  why  not  accept  it  frankly 
and  cheerily  also,  en  bon  camaraderie  ?  None 
the  less,  perhaps,  he  perceived  her,  as  he  had  at 
first,  to  be  a  "  simpleton  ; "  but  a  simpleton  can 
be  very  honestly  bewitching ;  the  openness  and 
the  honesty  took  away  something  of  the  triviality, 
and  abated  the  contempt.  He  found  it  a  pas 
time  to  be  with  her ;  it  was  also  a  study  of  char 
acter,  as  far  as  the  character  went. 


80  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

At  the  same  time  that  all  this  was  going  on, 
there  was  an  interest  of  precisely  opposite  sort  de 
veloping  in  Dr.  Harriman's  mind  toward  Cyrilla 
Raye ;  an  interest  piqued  by  reserve  and  difficulty 
and  the  complexities  of  a  higher  individuality. 
Cyrilla  puzzled  him ;  and  a  man  will  go  further 
out  of  his  way  to  solve  a  problem  than  he  will  to 
read  a  plainly  advertised  fact. 

I  will  not  vouch  for  it  that  Cyrilla  did  not  per 
ceive,  with  a  new  demureness  shielding  her  discov 
ery,  that  she  had  stumbled,  through  whim,  upon  a 
more  effective  role  than  all  her  gay  abandon  had 
furnished  her  with  before ;  or  that  a  certain  tri 
umph  did  not  turn  her  first  honest,  withdrawing 
pride  into  something  of  a  fresh  and  fascinating  ex 
periment. 

Almost  to  her  own  bewilderment,  Rill  Raye  was 
slipping  into  a  new  position  in  Wewachet,  and  be 
gan  to  feel  it  in  the  air  about  her.  "  People  will 
talk,"  she  had  said  once  to  Miss  Haven's  friendly 
monitions  of  prudence,  u  and  after  they  've  once 
begun,  you  can't  change  the  keynote  you  've  given 
them.  They  expect  something  startling  from  me ; 
if  I  were  as  tame  as  an  old  house-cat  for  ten  years, 
it  would  n't  make  any  difference,  there  would  n't 
be  anything  worth  mentioning  in  that ;  they  'd 
either  invent  something,  or  go  back  to  the  last 
piece  of  wildness  in  my  infancy.  I  shall  have 


WHEAT-SEED  AND   TAEE-SEED.  81 

to  finish  up  as  I  've  set  out,  or  disappoint  the 
world." 

Miss  Haven,  with  good  reason,  thought  other 
wise. 

In  fact,  a  different  sort  of  strikingness  in  Rill's 
performances  had  begun  to  appear.  Some  old 
stories  got  a  new  moral  to  them,  and  started  on  a 
fresh  run.  Nobody  knew  how  it  was  found  out, 
but  a  supplement  had  here  and  there  been  put  to 
fragmentary  narrations  which  both  rounded  out 
and  pointed  them,  making  them  good  for  another 
circulation. 

"That  Miss  Raye  is  a  pretty  girl;  but  she 
makes  mistakes,"  said  one  lady  to  another  at  a  so 
cial  gathering  where  Rill  was  prominent.  "  Was  n't 
there  some  sauciness  of  hers  at  Lill  Upson's  when 
three  or  four  partners  came  to  her  at  once  for  the 
reel ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  that 's  an  old  story.  She  flirted  her 
fan  in  their  faces,  told  them  there  were  too  many 
of  them,  and  she  would  n't  dance  at  all ;  and  then 
marched  off,  leaving  them  plantes  la.  Afterward, 
for  oddity  and  fun,  she  got  up  and  danced  on  the 
men's  side,  with  a  girl  partner." 

"  But  that  was  n't  all  of  it,"  said  a  third  person 
standing  by.  "  Mollie  "Wythe  had  been  sitting  out, 
forgetting,  in  her  meek  little  way,  that  there  was 
anything  possible  for  her  to  do  but  to  look  on  and 


82  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

admire  Rill  Raye  and  the  rest.  Plain,  awkward  lit 
tle  thing,  she  had  got  used  to  it.  Rill  suddenly  took 
in  the  injustice  of  it,  when  all  those  boys  stood 
round  her,  asking  at  once,  and  sticking  out  their 
elbow's ;  she  fairly  pushed  John  Lownes's  down. 
'  It 's  a  shame  of  you,  all  coming  for  one  girl,'  she 
said.  '  Why  don't  you  divide  round  ?  '  and  she 
turned  her  back,  and  walked  up  to  Mollie.  '  Dance 
this  with  me,'  she  said.  '  I  '11  be  gentleman. 
They  're  scarce  here  to-night.'  And  off  they  went, 
and  Mollie  had  her  good  time  of  the  evening.  Rill 
never  thought  of  the  men's  line  till  she  got  there, 
except  to  show  them  what  a  gentleman  should  do, 
as  she  said." 

"  It  made  a  new  conspicuousness  for  her  though  ; 
she  had  her  fun  out  of  it :  marching  them  all  after 
her  up  and  down  the  room,  like  captives  at  a  Ro 
man  show,"  said  the  lady  who  had  told  the  tale. 

"  That  was  how  it  appeared,  and  was,  as  far  as 
it  went.  But  it  was  n't  the  best  of  it,  or  what  she 
did  it  for.  There 's  something  in  Rill  Raye  besides 
audacity." 

"  I  wish  there  were  n't  that,  then,"  returned  the 
matron  who  had  spoken  first  of  all ;  but  her  tone 
relented.  "  It  is  n't  the  right  style,  you  know ; 
somebody  ought  to  tell  her  not  to  have  too  good  a 
time." 

The  three  speakers  —  Mrs.  Rextell,  Mrs.  Vance, 


WHEAT-SEED  AND   TAKE  SEED.  83 

and  Mrs.  Sliolto  —  were  of  the  high  ladyhood  of 
Wewachet. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  Mrs.  Rextell 
made  one  of  her  biennial  calls  upon  Miss  Bonable, 
and  followed  it  by  cards  for  that  lady  and  her 
niece  to  her  large  garden-party. 

"  No,  indeed,"  Miss  Bonable  had  said  to  Miss 
Haven,  who  spoke  of  it,  taking  acceptance  for 
granted.  "  It 's  her  hash  party.  She  's  had  little 
private  companies  all  summer.  Why  didn't  she 
ask  me  to  any  of  them,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  For  the  same  reason,  I  suppose,  that  she  did 
not  ask  me.  I  had  not  any  little  private  rights." 

"  Poh !  Everybody  knows  you  can  go  any 
where." 

"  I  don't  admit  the  contrary  of  you." 

Miss  Bonable  saw  that  she  had  admitted  it,  and 
retreated  into  momentary  silence. 

"  If  you  do  not  go,  let  me  take  Cyrilla." 

Miss  Bonable  opened  her  eyes  wide.  "  Take 
Cyrilla  !  "  she  ejaculated.  "  It 's  rather  late  in  the 
day  to  begin  on  that  plan.  She  has  taken  herself 
—  wherever  she  could  get  —  so  far." 

"  May  be  that  has  been  a  mistake.  I  should  like 
to  have  her  with  me  ?  "  The  interrogative  was  a 
petition. 

"/can't  hinder,"  said  Miss  Bonable,  concisely. 

So  it  was  under  Miss  Haven's   unimpeachable 


84  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

wing  that  Rill  Raye  went,  chaperoned  for  the  first 
occasion  in  her  life,  to  Mrs.  Rextell's. 

"•  Don't  have  too  good  a  time,  dear,"  said  Miss 
Plaven,  with  gentlest  significance,  as  they  drove  up 
the  long,  sweeping  approach,  on  either  side  of 
which,  under  the  splendid  groups  of  tall  trees,  the 
guests,  in  dainty  array,  were  already  scattering 
about  upon  the  green  velvet  of  the  closely  mown 
grass.  Had  Mrs.  Rextell  ever  suggested  the 
kindly  hypothesis  to  Miss  Elizabeth,  or  had  Miss 
Elizabeth  herself  originally  started  it  on  its  way  — 
that  the  only  trouble  with  Rill  Raye  was  that  she 
had  too  good  a  time,  too  undisguisedly  ?  I  think  it 
had  been  a  bit  of  the  gospel  gossip. 

Miss  Haven  would  have  had  her  hands  full  to 
day,  if  she  thought  to  scatter  good  seed  as  fast  as 
the  evil  one  would  cast  the  tares.  Everything  was 
astir  and  afloat,  from  the  minute  Dr.  Ilarriman 
and  Connie  Norris  walked  up  the  lawn,  as  they 
did  a  few  minutes  after  Miss  Haven  and  Cyrilla 
had  arrived  ;  and  certain  comments  reached  Mrs. 
Rextell's  ears  which  inclined  her  to  regret,  notwith 
standing  the  comprehensive  intent  of  her  neighbor 
hood  gathering  —  her  hash  party  —  that  these  two 
should  be  there  together.  They  had  met  just  be 
low  the  gates  ;  these  little  fortuitous  circumstances 
had  fallen  into  a  law  of  recurrence  that  seemed  to 
work  now  of  itself,  really  without  premeditation  ; 


WHEAT  SEED  AND   TAEE-SEED.  85 

to  the  doctor  it  was  beginning  to  present  a  diffi 
culty  ;  it  was  becoming  too  invariable  ;  yet  every 
time  lie  fell  for  the  moment  into  the  pleasant 
snare. 

"  Do  you  see  ?  Did  you  notice  ?  "  passed  from 
lip  to  lip  among  certain  of  the  observers ;  and  one 
connected  tale  was  set  forth  with  fresh  gusto  by  a 
brisk  little  lady  with  an  animated  bunch  of  tall 
rudbeckias  in  her  hat,  that  bobbed  and  danced 
from  left  to  right  and  up  and  down,  in  the  eager 
motion  of  the  wearer,  as  she  addressed  her  speech 
and  nodded  its  emphasis  and  tossed  its  sneer ; 
and  from  her  it  traveled  till  the  lady  of  the  manor 
listened,  displeased,  to  the  slighter  remarks  con 
veying  the  impression  of  the  story  into  which  it 
condensed  itself  in  the  rendering  of  the  thorough 
bred. 

"  Actually,  she  got  off  the  train  within  half  a 
minute  of  its  starting.  I  put  my  head  out  of  the 
window  and  saw  the  whole.  She  met  him  at  the 
gate.  There  was  some  pretense  or  other,  as  usual ; 
I  suppose  he  told  her  there  was  n't  time  ;  and  then 
they  both  hurried  down  the  platform.  But  the 
bell  rang,  and  we  slipped  off,  just  as  they  came 
alongside  the  last  car.  Tie  could  have  got  on,  but 
he  would  n't  let  her,  and  he  could  n't  leave  her  ; 
so  there  they  were,  and  no  train  for  two  hours  and 
a  half  —  and  evening  !  " 


86  A  GOLDEN   GOSSIP. 

"  So  they  went  back,  and  sat  down,  and  looked 
at  decorated  plates,  I  suppose,  instead  of  going 
home  to  their  suppers?  " 

"  My  dear  !  waste  opportunities  like  that  —  and 
go  hungry?  No,  indeed!  They  went  up  town, 
and  had  tea  at  Bever's,  and  walked  about  afterward 
till  train  time  ;  she  told  of  it  herself,  as  a  great 
lark.  I  wonder  they  did  n't  stay  in  and  go  to  the 
theatre.  Perhaps  they  will,  next  time." 

And  it  may  as  well  be  mentioned  here  that  the 
next  time  the  story  was  told,  or  took  a  fresh  de 
parture,  the  theatre  addition  was  put  on  as  an  as 
sertion  ;  and  that  so  in  the  end  it  worked  its  way 
round,  till  Dr.  Harriman  heard  it,  to  his  intense 
annoyance  and  disgust  ;  the  more  that  he  per 
ceived  he  had  really  been  going  too  far,  and  that 
he  had  only  himself  to  thank  for  whatever  mis 
construction  might  accrue. 

That  there  was  a  glaring  inconsistency  between 
these  escapades  and  the  quieter  significance  of  the 
visits  at  Crooke  Corner,  aggravated  both  the  young 
doctor's  self-dissatisfaction  and  his  difficulties  with 
Cyrilla  Raye. 

Meantime,  on  the  Rextell  lawn  to-day,  the  last- 
named  young  lady  was  superbly  inaccessible. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   POND   LILY   ROOM. 

"  You  'RE  on  a  new  tack,  Rill,"  said  Connie 
Norris,  coming  tip  to  her  after  Rill  had  a  third 
time  evaded  a  prolonged  interview  with  the  doctor, 
whose  sudden  "  dividing  of  himself  round  "  by  no 
means  pleased  Miss  Connie.  "  And  you  are  taking 
all  the  wind  out  of  other  people's  sails." 

"  I  have  n't  set  any  sails,"  said  Rill,  with  the 
brief  gravity  so  new  and  so  particularly  becoming 
to  her. 

"  I  wish  you  would,  then,"  said  Connie,  frown 
ing.  "  It  would  be  fairer  than  the  way  you  're 
doing  now." 

Rill  flashed  a  look  at  her  without  speaking. 

Just  then  Dr.  Harriman  appeared  once  more, 
escorting  Miss  Haven.  "  There  is  tea  down  there, 
under  the  beeches,"  he  said.  "  Would  you  like  to 
go  for  some,  or  shall  I  bring  it  to  you  here  ? " 
He  addressed  the  three  ladies,  as  he  paused  with 
Miss  Elizabeth. 

"  We  will  go  down,  I  think,"  said  Miss  Eliza- 


88  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

beth.  "  There  is  more  there  than  tea.  That,  one 
can  take  at  home,  you  know.  We  came  here  to 
enjoy  people." 

Kill  had  a  high  color,  and  her  eyes  burned  yet 
with  the  light  that  had  made  Connie's  blink.  She 
took  Miss  Haven's  arm  with  a  little  private  grip  of 
determination,  and  there  was  nothing  left  for  Dr. 
Harriman  but  to  follow  with  Cornelia. 

Another  moving  group  brushed  by.  The  breeze 
brought  back  some  semi-detached  words  spoken 
just  after  it  had  passed. 

"Engaged?" 

"  Or  ought  to  be." 

Rill  and  Miss  Haven  both  heard  it.  Each  won 
dered  silently  whether  the  pulse  of  sound  had 
reached  back  to  the  other  two. 

Rill's  head  was  an  inch  or  two  higher  as  she 
walked  on.  She  hurried  Miss  Haven,  drawing  her 
forcibly  forward,  and  putting  an  increasing  dis 
tance  between  the  other  couple  and  themselves. 
This  was  quite  practicable,  for  Connie  Norris  did 
not  hurry  Dr.  Harriman  at  all.  She  stopped  him, 
indeed,  just  beyond  the  outskirt  of  the  groups 
about  the  table. 

"  Miss  Haven,"  said  Cyrilla,  in  a  quick,  intense 
way,  "  Connie  is  an  awful  goose.  But  they  are 
talking  hatefully  about  her.  Can't  you  hush  it 
up?" 


THE  POND  LILY  ROOM.  89 

Around  one  of  the  tables,  where  the  eldest  Miss 
Rextell  was  dispensing-  chocolate,  had  gathered  an 
admiring  bevy  of  friends,  in  the  midst  of  whom 
she  sat,  a  stately  beauty  with  dark  hair  distractingly 
knotted  high  upon  the  graceful  head,  close  against 
which  shone  a  single  aster-like  flower  of  luminous 
pale  violet,  color  of  the  ethereal  heart-flame  of  the 
diamond,  born  of  highest  light.  She  served  with 
dainty  fingers  the  delicious  beverage  topped  with 
white  foam  of  cream  on  every  cup,  and  with  dazzle 
of  smile  gave  right  and  left  at  the  same  time  the 
light-whipped  cream  of  talk,  without  which,  at  such 
moments,  conversation  would  seem  too  seriously 
nutritive. 

As  Miss  Haven  and  Cyrilla  came  up,  some  one 
who  had  finished  her  chocolate  was  turning  the 
empty  cup  about  with  little  airs  of  apprehensive 
ecstasy,  exclaiming  with  soft,  well-trained  vehe 
mence  at  the  rare  coloring  and  design  of  the  frail 
bit  of  porcelain. 

"  And  you  have  these  things  out  here  !  "  she  said. 
"  How  do  you  dare  ?  What  are  your  servants 
made  of?  Anything  corresponding  to  Dresden  in 
comparison  with  Delft  ?  " 

"  Hardly,"  said  Miss  Rextell,  with  the  smile  that 
was  like  a  summer  electric  flash,  soft  and  swift, 
that  one  watches  eagerly  for,  because  it  is  never 
fixed  for  the  merest  space  of  a  breath.  "  But  now 


90  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

that  people  can  all  paint  their  own  teacups,  and 
everything  can  be  copied,  one  does  n't  seem  to  care 
so  anxiously  —  do  you  think  ?  " 

This  was  Miss  Haven's  chance. 

"  Miss  Norris  paints  beautifully.  Did  you  ever 
see  any  of  her  work  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  momentary  drop  of  silence  befell  that  marks 
some  otherwise  imperceptible  little  chasm  to  be 
leaped. 

Some  one  claimed  Miss  Rextell's  official  atten 
tion.  Then  the  lady  next  Miss  Haven,  not  to 
slight  Miss  Haven  herself,  responded  with  a  touch 
of  remoteness,  — 

"  Miss  Norris  ?  I  don't  think  I  have.  Does 
she  paint  for  sale  ?  " 

"  Partly,"  returned  Miss  Haven,  serenely.  "  Not 
from  need,  of  course ;  but  she  makes  her  lessons  in 
dependent,  and  she  has  other  pleasant  little  things 
in  her  power,  you  know.  I  could  tell  you  better  if 
she  were  not  close  by,"  she  added,  rapidly,  in  a  low 
ered  voice.  "  But  it  was  very  nice  of  her,  paying 
a  livery  bill  for  that  poor  little  sick  dressmaker  of 
hers,  for  a  fortnight's  rides.  And  the  things  she 
does  must  simply  be  an  exquisite  pleasure  to  do." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ?  "  the  same  lady  returned,  with  the 
same  f ar-offness. 

There  was  still  a  little  chasm.  The  name  of 
Miss  Norris  had  been  too  recently  quoted  in  a  dif- 


THE  POND   LILY  ROOM.  91 

ferent  connection  ;  and  there  was  Dr.  Harriman, 
brincrinjj  her  at  this  moment  among  them  for  her 

o       o  o 

tea. 

.  Miss  Rextell  leaped  the  gulf.  It  was  the  pretti 
est  leap  possible.  She  left  her  chair,  her  soft  white 
draperies  making'  a  gracious  light  about  her,  and 
moved  gently  through  the  way  that  was  parted  for 
her,  out  upon  the  open  lawn. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Norris,"  she  said  to  her 
guest.  "  I  had  not  seen  you  before.  Will  you 
have  chocolate  ?  Or,  there  is  tea  close  by.  Dr. 
Harriman,  please  to  find  what  Miss  Norris  likes. 
The  chocolate  is  at  my  table."  And  with  one  of 
her  bewildering  smiles,  and  a  word  about  the  lovely 
weather,  and  that  she  was  so  glad  there  could  be 
so  many  here,  she  glided  back  again. 

"  Here  is  a  place  by  me,  Miss  Haven.  Will  you 
have  more  sugar?  One  of  those  little  cocoanut 
puffs?  —  I'm  glad  you  told  that  nice  thing  of  Miss 
Norris,"  she  said,  in  a  quiet,  friendly  tone.  "  There 
is  always  more  than  one  story  to  know.  Don't 
you  think,  Miss  Haven,"  she  went  on,  in  a  clear, 
sweet,  incisive  voice,  "  that,  after  all,  the  chief  dif 
ference  between  people  is  their  different  way  of 
doing  the  same  things  ?  " 

All  her  immediate  circle  heard  the  words,  and  a 
counter  wave  to  the  creep  of  the  hostile  motion  in 
these  Wewachet  waters  was  set  stirring  around 


92  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Cornelia  Norris.  The  drift  of  it  touched  her  at 
once ;  she  found  herself  more  in  the  pleasant  cur 
rent.  An  edge  opened  where  she  stood,  and  she 
was  taken  in  by  some  gentle,  casual  recognitions, 
when  she  might  have  remained  quite  outside,  with 
out  having  any  positive  rudeness  to  complain  of. 

When  Miss  Haven  had  finished  her  chocolate, 
she  rose  and  quietly  made  her  way  again  toward 
her  escort. 

"  Dr.  Harriman,"  she  said,  "  will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  help  me  find  Mrs.  Rextell?"  and  taking 
his  offered  arm,  she  walked  away  up  the  lawn  with 
him. 

She  had  effected  a  modification  and  change 
among  the  elements  toward  a  more  beneficent  solu 
tion.  But,  blessed  busybody  that  she  was,  she  had 
not  yet  done  for  the  day.  She  meant  that  this 
afternoon,  which  threatened  to  be  the  turning-point 
for  ill,  socially,  in  a  heedless  young  girl's  life, 
should  revert  to  quite  an  opposite  accomplishment. 

Joining  Mrs.  Rextell,  she  slipped  into  conversa 
tion  with  her,  leaving  Dr.  Harriman  to  such  liberty 
as  he  might  like  to  take.  So,  presently,  for  a  brief 
chance,  the  two  ladies  were  left  apart  a  little. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Rextell,"  said  Miss  Haven  then, 
"  your  daughter  Margaret  has  just  done  such  a 
sweet  and  gracious  thing."  And  she  told  her  the 
how  and  the  why.  "I  wish  —  I  think — you  will  do 
another." 


THE  POND  LILY  ROOM.  93 

"•  In  what  fashion  ?  " 

"  Your  own  fashion  ;  you  will  know  how.  It 
will  make  such  a  difference.  There  was  a  cloud 
coming  up  for  that  young  girl." 

"I  am  glad  Margaret  behaved  just  so.  But"  — 
and  the  lady's  fair  dignity,  that  was  shy,  even  in  its 
own  purity,  took  a  touch  of  regretful  shrinking. 
"  I  don't  like  girls  to  get  under  a  cloud,"  she  said. 

"  Beam  out  upon  her,  please  !  Drive  the  cloud 
away  —  for  this  time  at  least.  You  can." 

At  the  moment,  the  two  young  girls  approached 
up  the  slope,  pausing  a  little  way  off  when  they 
saw  Miss  Haven  engaged  with  Mrs.  Rextell. 

"  How  pretty  she  is !  "  said  Mrs.  Rextell,  hon 
estly.  u  But  I  like  the  other  one's  face  better." 

"  Yes  ;  they  are  both  pretty  girls.  And  I  am 
very  fond  of  Cyrilla  Raye." 

Mrs.  Rextell  moved  forward. 

"  Miss  Norris,"  she  said,  —  and  there  were  peo 
ple  enough  about  to  see  and  hear  and  be  surprised, 
among  them  the  very  lady  of  the  rudbeckias,  who 
had  hovered  within  speaking  distance  of  Mrs.  Rex- 
tel'l  and  her  changing  coterie  for  half  an  hour,  with 
out  apparent  reason  or  result,  — "  Miss  Norris,  I 
hear  you  are  fond  of  art,  and  do  pretty  things  in 
color  yourself.  Will  you  come  into  the  house  with 
me  ?  I  should  like  to  show  you  something.  Miss 
Raye,  you  will  come  too,  won't  you  ?  " 


94  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

And,  with  that  way  a  lady  can  have  of  being  oc 
cupied  with  just  the  persons  and  the  errand  she 
chooses,  Mrs.  Rextell,  laying  her  hand  on  Miss  Ha 
ven's  arm,  led  the  little  party  indoors. 

It  was  a  distinguishment.  It  left  people  turning 
their  heads,  and  wondering  quietly.  Dr.  Harriman 
himself  noticed,  and  was  impressed. 

Upstairs,  through  Mrs.  Rextell 's  own  beautiful 
room,  out  into  a  corridor  beyond,  which  connected 
with  a  new  wing  lately  added  to  the  mansion,  with 
a  pretty  staircase  coming  up  from  another  side, 
they  passed  to  a  suite  of  dainty,  small  apartments 
in  a  row,  all  fronting  upon  the  lawn.  Doors,  easily 
sliding,  but  as  easily  closed  to  complete  separation, 
linked  and  divided  them  within. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  my  pond  lily  room,"  the 
hostess  said,  walking  on  to  the  door  from  the  gal 
lery  in  the  farther  end  and  throwing  it  open. 
"  "We  shall  hardly  have  time  for  the  others  now ; 
but  I  would  like  you  to  see  this.  It  is  where  I  put 
my  very  dearest,  sweetest  young  girl  friends  when 
they  come  to  me.  I  made  it  for  them.  There  are 
not  many  to  whom  I  give  it.  They  are  of  the  pond 
lily  nature  themselves.  I  have  a  wild  rose  room  be 
side  ;  and  a  marigold  chamber,  and  a  little  fernery, 
where  my  older  visitors  who  want  real  rest  and  in 
visibility,  can  stay.  But  this "  —  and  she  stood 
aside,  and  let  the  lovely  surprise  speak  for  itself. 


THE  POND  LILY  ROOM.  95 

Exquisite  shades  of  gray  and  green  made  up  the 
tone  of  color  in  the  charming  apartment. 

The  carpet  was  of  a  cool,  soft  water-gray,  with 
white  rugs  laid  about  upon  it ;  its  border  was  a 
deep,  dull  green.  Walls  were  covered  with  like 
tints,  the  frieze  and  dado  giving  the  repeat  of  rest 
ful  green,  broken  and  characterized  in  the  dado  by 
decoration  of  tall,  swaying  reeds  and  grasses. 

In  chosen  places  —  over  the  low  bed-head,  which 
had  no  canopy,  and  at  one  side  above  the  dressing- 
table,  and  again  by  the  window,  knotted  above  the 
wainscot  and  continued  down  upon  it  in  beautiful 
drops  and  tassels,  were  twisted  stems  and  buds  and 
blossoms  of  the  water-lily,  painted  by  an  artist's 
hand.  There  was  embroidery  of  lilies  on  the 
folded  down  coverlet  of  dark  green  silk. 

But  upon  and  about  a  large  oval  table  with  gray 
marble  slab  was  the  masterpiece  of  loveliness,  — 
the  toilet  array  all  daintily  set  forth.  The  porce 
lain  basin — broad  and  deep,  like  a  veritable  little 
lake  — -  was  of  pale  gray  in  ground  color,  upon 
which  wandered  olive  stems  and  dark  green  pads, 
while  leaning  up  against  and  over  the  brim  were 
buds  and  blossoms  that  one  might  almost  fancy 
would  be  astir  and  Afloat  when  the  bowl  should  be 
filled  with  water.  The  quaint,  round-swelling,  close- 
throated  jug  held  clusters  falling  out  from  stems 
that  seemed  thrust  within,  and  dropped  the  fair, 


96  A   GOLDEN   GOSSIP. 

white  heads  tipon  the  great  curving  side,  two  or 
three  winding  the  handle  with  loose  turns  and  fall 
ing  with  their  budded  tips  behind.  A  smaller 
pitcher  had  just  one  light  knot  looped  round  it,  the 
stem  ends  curling  away  on  one  side  and  two  golden- 
hearted  open  blooms  hanging  over  upon  the  other. 
Beneath  the  table  a  luxurious  foot  bath  completed 
the  appliances,  about  whose  oval  the  flowers  and 
leaves  and  coiling  stems  were  actually  heaped,  so 
that  it  would  seem  like  dipping  in  beneath  their 
cool,  sweet  shelter  to  find  the  pool  they  hid. 

All  the  hangings  of  the  room  were  in  green  and 
white, — dusky  green  with  olive  lights,  and  pure, 
creamy,  ivory  fairness.  Dressing-table  held  its  own 
exquisite  service  of  porcelain  and  ivory,  upon  which 
here  and  there  some  echo  of  the  same  design  was 
repeated.  Over  all  the  soft,  faint  blue  tinting  of 
the  ceiling  closed,  like  distant  sky. 

Cornelia  Norris  was  in  a  real  ecstasy.  The  art 
—  the  perfection  of  the  execution  —  excited  her 
with  delight.  She  moved  from  one  thing  to 
another,  hanging  over  each,  or  glancing  up  and 
down  at  answering  touches  of  beauty,  with  an 
eager  taking  in  of  the  charm  of  the  purpose  and 
the  marvelous  skill  of  the  carrying  out.  Kill  llaye 
stood  by,  very  quiet,  in  the  midst  of  it  all.  Mrs. 
Rextell  turned  to  her.  "  You  like  it  ?  " 

There  were  tears  in  the  girl's  eyes. 


THE  POND  LILY  EOOM.  97 

"  I  think,"  said  Rill,  "  that  if  it  were  not  quite  a 
pond  lily  nature,  to  be  put  in  here  would  almost 
make  it  so." 

"  That  is  the  sweetest  thing  anybody  has  ever 
said  of  it  yet !  "  said  Mrs.  Rextell.  She  laid  her 
hand  upon  Rill's  shoulder  with  a  friendly,  caressing 
touch. 

"  Oh,  see  this  bud,  Rill !  How  the  pink  blushes 
through  the  olive !  It  is  just  celestial  to  see  color 
laid  on  so  !  " 

"  One  thinks  of  the  laying  on  ;  the  other  feels 
the  heart  of  the  meaning.  I  like  your  girl  best," 
said  Mrs.  Rextell  to  Miss  Haven  as  they  went  down 
stairs. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

KEEN    DEFINITIONS. 

CONNIE  NORRIS  was  beginning1  to  find  her  coinci 
dences  becoming  less  felicitous.  Her  story  all  at 
once  was  running  bare  of  occurrence. 

Dr.  Harriman  was  growing  indifferent,  or  cau 
tious,  she  could  not  tell  which ;  he  was  certainly  a 
little  queer.  He  had  gone  into  another  car,  one  day 
when  they  had  taken  the  same  train  to  the  city. 
She  had  been  in  the  file  of  passengers  with  him  at 
the  steps ;  he  had  seen  her  and  bowed  ;  then  he 
had  gone  across  the  platform  to  the  rear  carriage, 
and  when  she  had  paused,  glancing  hesitatingly 
that  way  herself,  and  had  half  followed,  he  had 
turned,  and  said  politely,  "This  is  the  smoker,  Miss 
Connie,"  and  disappeared  over  the  threshold. 

Miss  Haven  had  been  very  disagreeable  one  day. 
"  Old  Meddleprate,"  Connie  in  her  inward  wrath 
had  called  her,  then  and  afterward.  Miss  Haven 
Lad  meddled,  in  the  only  way  consonant  with  her 
principles,  by  going  straight  to  the  person  concerned 
with  her  comment. 


KEEN  DEFINITIONS.  99 

"  Miss  Connie,  my  dear,"  she  had  said,  "  an  old 
woman  sees  things  sometimes  that  a  young  one 
does  not.  We  hear  things,  too.  I  am  going  to  say 
frankly  to  you  what  I  would  resent  for  you,  if  I 
heard  your  affairs  impertinently  discussed.  Don't 
you  think  it  would  be  wise,  perhaps,  to  change  your 
day  for  going  to  town  ?  People  will  remark  when 
an  attractive  young  girl  receives  continued  atten 
tions,  —  and  sometimes  the  remarks  are  a  little 
unkind." 

Connie  had  tossed  her  head,  and  said  she  did  n't 
see  that  she  could  help  it.  People  went  in  the  cars 
every  day,  and  her  days  with  Miss  Tintwell  could 
not  be  managed  differently. 

When  Dr.  Harriman  took  coldly  to  the  smoker, 
or  cruelly  read  his  evening  paper,  she  wondered  if 
"  Old  Meddleprate  "  had  been  frank  with  him  also. 

Somebody  had  been  frank  with  Dr.  Harriman, 
but  it  had  not  been  Miss  Haven.  Indeed,  since 
that  word  "  Engaged?  "  which  had  reached  his  ear 
with  its  significance,  he  had  begun  to  be  a  little 
frank  with  himself,  and  to  shape  his  behavior  ac 
cordingly.  But  another  word  had  been  spoken, 
with  a  directness  of  which  perhaps  only  one  person 
in  Wewachet  was  exactly  capable. 

Rill  Raye  was  really  fond  of  Connie  Norris, 
though  she  did  call  her  an  awful  goose.  She  felt 
herself  to  blame  in  the  matter  of  Dr.  Harriman, 


100  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

that  she  had  helped  on  that  first  wild  escapade 
which  had  begun  the  acquaintance ;  and  a  certain 
little  guiltiness  troubled  her,  innocent  of  design  as 
she  knew  herself  to  be,  iu  the  perception  that  what 
Connie  called  "  sailing  on  a  new  tack  "  was  draw 
ing  Dr.  Harriman  toward  herself  with  some  inter 
est  more  evident  than  was  manifest  in  all  the  light 
devotedness  which  Connie  complained  was  inter 
fered  with. 

Rill  was  moved  by  a  threefold  indignation  —  or 
impatience ;  with  Connie,  with  the  doctor,  and  her 
self.  So  one  day  when  she  came  into  the  library 
at  the  Point,  and,  passing  through  the  reading-room, 
saw  Connie  and  Dr.  Harriman  on  opposite  sides  of 
the  same  pamphlet-strewn  table,  she  went  on  to  the 
desk  without  salutation,  and  was  returning  in  the 
same  manner,  her  head  a  little  higher  than  was 
quite  necessary,  when  the  librarian  spoke  her  .name 
with  a  recall. 

"  The  book  you  asked  for  has  just  been  brought 
in,  Miss  Raye,"  she  said,  as  Rill  returned  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  room ;  and  in  the  little  delay  of 
transfer  and  delivery,  Rill  caught  involuntarily  a 
side  glimpse  of  a  transaction  which  sent  her  chin 
up  a  slight  lift  higher. 

Connie  had  written  something  on  a  slip  of  paper 
and  pushed  it  across  upon  a  Saturday  Review  to 
the  doctor.  The  gentleman  read,  and  answered 


KEEN  DEFINITIONS.  101 

verbally,  in  the  low  tone  and  few  words  to  which 
the  rules  restricted  conversation.  Connie  pulled 
back  the  book  and  crumpled  the  paper.  At  a 
table  close  by,  Rill  saw  glances  and  smiles  and 
eyebrow-creeps  exchanged,  and  the  expression  of 
her  own  face  became  unmistakable. 

As  she  went  out  and  drew  the  door  behind  her, 
she  was  conscious  of  a  movement,  and  of  a  step 
following ;  a  moment  after,  Dr.  Harriman  was 
beside  her  on  the  street.  He  gave  her  a  plea 
sant  greeting.  Rill  turned  and  flashed  that  strong 
expression  full  upon  him.  "  Don't  you  know, 
Dr.  Harriman,"  she  said,  in  her  clear,  unflinching 
way,  "  that  you  are  making  Connie  Norris  talked 
about  ?  " 

"Am  I  ?  "     He  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to 
say  more ;  but  in   the  inflection  of  the  two  words 
there  was,  with  unaffronted  deference  to  herself, 
a  slight  underquery  —  "  Is  it  all  my  fault  ?  " 

"  You  are  an  honest  friend,  Miss  Raye,"  he 
said,  "  and  a  brave  one  ;  but  is  n't  there  sure  to  be 
talk  in  Wewachet,  whatever  one  does  —  or  does 
not  do  ?  " 

"  It  must  needs  be  that  offenses  come,  I  sup 
pose,"  Rill  said  to  that,  succinctly ;  and  left  him 
to  supply  the  remainder  of  the  quotation  for  him 
self. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  you  think  ill  of  me, 


102  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Miss  Raye,"  said  Dr.  Harriman,  when  they  had 
walked  again  a  few  steps  further  in  silence. 

"  The  hardest  thing  is  to  have  to  think  ill  of 
one's  self,"  said  Rill  gravely  ;  "  that  is  terrible." 

She  spoke  almost  impersonally  ;  whether  in  cau 
tion,  or  admonition,  or  any  exaggerated  conscious 
ness,  lay  her  meaning,  Dr.  Harriman  could  hardly 
judge. 

"  I  think  you  cannot  possibly  know  much  of 
what  that  would  be,"  he  said. 

Rill  looked  up  at  him  suddenly,  as  if  out  of 
momentary  abstraction.  "  You  cannot  know  any 
thing  about  that,"  she  answered  him.  And  then 
she  turned  to  leave  him.  "  I  have  an  errand  for 
my  aunt,"  she  said,  at  the  threshold  of  a  shop 
door.  "  Good  afternoon,  Dr.  Harriman." 

It  was  after  this  that  Dr.  Harriman  began  to  be 
queer  and  uncertain  about  his  railway  arrange 
ments,  and  to  take  to  evening  papers  and  the 
smoker. 

Miss  Haven  had  not  stopped  with  the  disagree 
able,  however.  She  had  been  kind  as  well  as 
frank  with  Cornelia  Norris.  She  had  made  her 
welcome  as  a  visitor  to  herself ;  and  Connie,  not 
withstanding  her  resentment  and  her  epithets,  had 
accepted  the  sweet  with  the  bitter,  and  availed 
herself  of  what  she  could  get. 

Miss  Haven  began  to  have  quiet  little  afternoon 


KEEN  DEFINITIONS.  103 

teas.  On  certain  days,  when  her  friends  came  in, 
the  silver  teakettle  was  found  upon  her  table,  with 
baskets  of  delicate  cakes  ;  and  people  lingered  in 
pleasant  pairs  and  knots  until  sometimes  the  not 
very  large  room  was  full.  But  somehow  it  was 
never  a  "  hash  party  ;  "  the  little  word  of  being 
usually  at  home  on  these  days  was  only  spoken  to 
a  few,  and  they  were  mostly  young  people  whom 
Miss  Haven  attracted  about  her,  and  among  whom 
was  a  promotion  of  pleasant,  informal  intercourse 
that  made  them  all  really  better  acquainted,  under 
such  conditions  of  open  limit  as  called  for  neither 
surveillance  nor  criticism.  Miss  Haven  disliked 
very  much  a  set  form  of  matronizing  ;  it  was  only 
required,  she  thought,  when  most  really  useless,  or 
as  an  endorsing  of  what  had  better  not  be  en 
dorsed.  She  thought  more  homelike  social  oppor 
tunities  ought  to  be  arranged,  and  that  much  of 
what  is  called  "  going  into  society  "  was  a  mere 
hindering  bewilderment,  and  no  sociality  at  all. 

Perhaps  the  immediate  reminding  motive  of  all 
this  was  a  generous  interest  for  Dr.  Harriman  and 
Connie.  If  there  must  be  observation  and  talk 
of  them,  let  it  be  brought  here,  under  her  coun 
tenance  ;  it  should  be  diverted,  at  any  rate,  from, 
the  railway  trains.  If  it  meant  anything  more  than 
flirtation,  let  it  have  its  fair,  suitable  chance,  where 
the  meaning  might  be  apparent  and  responsible. 


104  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Miss  Haven  was  bent  upon  no  one  thing  so  much 
as  that  all  things  should  be  exactly  right  and  true 
for  every  one.  Possibly  the  good  lady  had  not 
reckoned  on  the  extension  of  Putnam  King's  op 
portunities  ;  her  "  afternoons  "  were  not  the  same 
on  which  he  had  ordinarily  come  ;  but  the  young 
man's  arrangements  proved  very  flexible,  and  he 
not  only  contrived  to  time  himself  with  these  new 
privileges,  but  fell  into  the  way  of  frequent  unex 
pected  arrivals,  which  were  rapidly  establishing 
themselves  into  a  rule  of  exceptions. 

Aunt  Elizabeth,  however,  was  no  believer  in 
mano2uvre  or  control,  to  advance  or  repress.  With 
her  own  gentle  presence  and  oversight,  she  ven 
tured  to  let  things  take  their  immediate  unembar 
rassed  course.  The  two  young  men  were  beginning 
to  know  each  other  better,  and  she  liked  this.  If 
Putnam  King  were  gravitating  toward  another 
special  attraction,  it  was  with  no  nonsense  of  trivial 
demonstration,  but  with  a  certain  manly  sobriety 
that  now  and  then  surprised  her  with  its  contrast 
to  his  ordinary  gay,  free,  almost  boyish  fashions  of 
speech  and  bearing.  And  it  pleased  her  to  see 
how  the  pond  lily  beauty  grew  in  the  sweet  reserves 
of  Kill  Raye,  and  how  the  new,  fair  dignity  en 
folded  the  girl  with  its  garment  of  grace.  The 
elder  lady  looked  upon  her  with  a  sense  of  moth 
erly  adoption  which  became  stronger  day  by  day, 


DEFINITIONS.  105 

and  began  insensibly,  I  think,  to  offset  the  force 
of  that  first  fixed  postulate  of  hers,  that  Putnam 
King  had  so  much  in  his  own  life  to  shape,  and  so 
much  other  life  to  see,  before  lie  could  be  drawn 
by  any  charm  whatever  toward  positive  thought  of 
his  future  serious  relations. 

Dr.  Harriman  found  in  the  safe  limitations  of 
the  intercourse  now  opened  a  happy  retreat  into 
friendly  courtesy  from  more  express  and  com 
promising  assiduities.  But  Miss  Connie  Norris 
was  not  so  satisfied,  as  we  have  seen.  She  must 
have  conspicuous  attendance.  She  delighted  in 
events,  adventures,  situations.  Miss  Elizabeth 
Haven's  afternoon  teas  would  do  very  well  just 
now,  in  an  interim  ;  she  did  not  disdain  them  ;  but 
she  chafed  at  dull  proprieties  and  averaged  plea 
sures.  She  consoled  herself  with  the  anticipation 
of  gayer,  freer  things  ;  with  fun  at  large,  and  the 
chance  and  test  of  it,  that  were  coming  soon,  in 
the  great  yearly  picnic  to  Shepaug. 

This  had  been  talked  of  one  afternoon  at  Miss 
Haven's.  In  a  week  or  two  it  would  come  off. 
Everybody  would  be  there  ;  everybody  always 
was  ;  it  was  the  last  festival  afield  of  the  season. 

"It  is  the  great  event  of  Wewachet;  and  there 
is  nothing  so  lovely  as  Shepaug,"  some  one  said  to 
Putnam  King,  taking  his  attendance  for  granted, 
and  describing  to  him  the  delights  he  might  expect. 
"  You  '11  be  with  us,  of  course,  Miss  Haven  ?  " 


106  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  I  am  to  be  with  friends  in 
Newport  at  about  that  time." 

"  Oh,  don't !  Come  back  for  the  day,  at  least. 
You  must  n't  miss  it,  and  we  can't  miss  you.  We 
want  Mr.  King1,  too." 

"  I  'm  not  much  good  at  a  picnic,"  said  Mr. 
King,  laughing.  "  They  always  have  seemed  to 
me  like  Dickens's  circumlocution  office,  —  a  how- 
not-to-do-it  sort  of  institution.  You  can't  get  the 
things  you  want  to  eat,  and  you  can't  find  the  peo 
ple  you  want  to  see,  and  the  lovely  place  you  go 
to  is  n't  there  ;  it  's  all  blotted  out  by  the  crowd." 

"  All  the  more  reason  you  should  go  with  us  to 
Shepaug.  We  manage  things  differently ;  and 
Shepaug  can't  be  blotted  out." 

"  I  dare  say  ;  I  have  great  confidence  in  you," 
returned  Mr.  King,  smiling.  Connie  Norris  came 
up  with  a  little  rush.  "Shepaug?"  she  cried. 
"  Oh,  I  would  n't  miss  it  for  a  farm  !  No,  not  for 
a  copper  mine,  or  a  whole  western  railroad  !  Dr. 
Harriman,  you  have  never  seen  Shepaug." 

Dr.  Harriman,  taken  en pa&sant,  like  a  pawn  at 
chess,  stopped  perforce. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Miss  Connie.  I  have  driven  there," 
he  said. 

"  Indeed,  you  can't  have  half  seen  it  that  way," 
rejoined  Miss  Connie.  "  The  loveliest  walks  and 
climbs  and  views  !  Why,  Mr.  King  was  objecting  to 


KEEN  DEFINITIONS.  107 

the  crowd.  You  would  n't  know  a  crowd  was  there, 
except  right  in  the  middle.  We  all  go  our  own 
way,  and  the  only  trouble  is  which  way  to  choose." 

"  Or  whom  to  choose  as  fellow  pilgrim,"  said  the 
lady  who  was  talking  with  Putnam  King,  as  Con 
nie  and  the  doctor  moved  along  a  little  toward 
Miss  Haven  and  the  teacups.  "  It  is  just  the  place 
for  a  good,  honest,  open-air  flirtation." 

"  Is  there  such  a  thing  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  King. 

"  As  what  ?  The  thing,  or  such  quality  of  the 
thing?" 

"  What  is  flirtation  ?  " 

"  Really,  it  is  very  undefinable.  Miss  Haven,  this 
innocent  young  man  wants  to  know  what  flirtation 
is.  Suppose  we  resolve  ourselves  into  a  debating 
society  and  find  out.  Don't  you  know,  Miss  Con 
nie?" 

Connie  Norris  laughed.  "  We  're  in  a  library. 
There's  a  Webster's  dictionary  here,  somewhere,  I 
suppose,"  she  answered,  not  unreadily. 

"  Very  well,  let  us  put  it  to  W^ebster,  then. 
Only  it  will  be  like  picking  a  field  flower  out  of  a 
herbarium." 

"  Oh,  really  !  "  exclaimed  Putnam  King.  "  That 
is  defining  it  beforehand  with  a  coolness  and  fresh 
ness.  That  is  imputing  innocence  and  simplicity 
at  once." 

"Yes.     I  don't  mean  the  cut-and-dried  article, 


108  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

bear  in  mind.  There  is  a  fresh  and  innocent 
sort." 

"  May  be.  If  you  look  far  enough  back  for  it, 
in  the  early  and  unconscious  years.  But  I  thought 
we  were  speaking  of  men  and  women,  —  of  a  good, 
honest,  recognized  thing." 

"  You  hold  to  your  point  with  a  legal  exactness. 
Well,  we  will  concede  it,  —  I  did  mean  that ;  only 
I  spoke  of  young  people,  not  case-hardened  old 
stagers." 

"  I  see.  There  must  be  lines  ;  it  all  depends 
upon  where  you  draw  them." 

"  Of  course.  And  that  is  what  our  survey  is  for. 
Dr.  Harriman,  won't  you  look?  " 

Dr.  Harriman  had  no  choice.  The  big  diction 
ary  was  at  his  elbow. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  the  impatient  lady  the 
moment  he  ceased  furling  the  leaves. 

"  '  Playing  at  courtship,'  Mrs.  Sudley,"  the  doc 
tor  answered,  clearly  and  unabashed.  Brought  to 
bay,  Dr.  Harriman  could  face  the  occasion.  "  But 
that  is  not  an  inside  definition,  I  think.  It  is  the 
statement  of  a  looker-on.  Dr.  Webster  probably 
never  flirted." 

A  gentle,  musical  laugh  was  the  rejoinder. 
"  Shall  we  look  to  you  for  an  inner  interpretation, 
Dr.  Harriman  ?  "  and  the  laugh  broke  out,  irresist 
ibly,  around  him. 


KEEN  DEFINITIONS.  109 

With  a  perfectly  composed  face  Dr.  Harriman 
met  the  assault.  Connie  Norris,  who  had  shrunk 
a  little  backward,  was  all  pink  and  fluttering,  like 
a  breeze-shaken  rose. 

"  I  should  say  it  might  be  '  tentative  acquaint 
ance,'  Mrs.  Sudley,"  Dr.  Harriman  replied. 

"  And  the  question  is,  how  much  of  that  is  al 
lowable  ?  " 

"  Precisely,  I  suppose." 

"Mr.  King,  it  is  your  turn.  You  raised  the 
point." 

"  From  all  that  I  have  ever  seen  of  the  thing,  I 
should  say  it  was  '  a  self-defeating  experiment.' " 

"  Oh,  that  won't  do !  That  is  more  outside. 
You  are  worse  than  Webster." 

"  You  could  hardly  expect  me  to  try  an  inside 
view,  holding  such  a  theory,  Mrs.  Sudley?" 

"  Mr.  King,  I  prophesy  for  you  a  brilliant  career 
at  the  bar.  But  won't  you  explain  ?  " 

"  I  think  Dr.  Harriman's  argument,  in  the  na 
ture  of  the  case,  should  have  precedence." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  undertaken  any  case. 
The  demand  upon  me  seems  rather  of  the  character 
of  a  subpoena,"  said  Dr.  Harriman,  with  careless 
good-humor. 

"  Very  well ;  bear  witness,  doctor,"  said  Mrs. 
Sudley,  gayly.  "  Yet,  after  all,  it  is  a  debate,  you 
see,  not  a  case  in  court.  Now  don't  pun  ;  we  want 
serious  work." 


110  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Perhaps  Dr.  Harriman  was  not  sorry  to  define 
indirectly  his  own  position. 

"  Seriously,  then,  Mrs.  Sudl%y,"  he  said  to  her, 
with  an  air  that  might  carry  gracefully  either  jest  or 
earnest,  "  I  do  not  see,  unless  we  are  to  rush  blind 
fold  into  matrimony,  or  adopt  French  customs  and 
leave  arrangements  to  our  ancestors,  why  we  should 
not  be  entitled  to  what  I  call  '  tentative  acquaint 
ance.'  I  don't  see  how  we  are  to  do  without  it." 

"  What  do  you  call '  tentative  acquaintance,'  Dr. 
Harriman  ?  "  questioned  Putnam  King. 

"  Why,  a  certain  degree  of  intimacy  ;  a  certain 
amount  of  "  —  lie  hesitated. 

"  Monopoly  ?  "  suggested  Mr.  King. 

"  Well,  yes,  if  you  put  it  so,"  replied  the  doctor, 
laughing.  "  Some  chance  to  try  sympathies,  and 
find  out  character,  and  prove  how  much  or  how 
little  two  persons  may  like  and  suit  each  other. 
But  if  there  is  to  be  watching  and  outcry,  and  the 
whole  community  either  down  upon  them  or  forcing 
their  affairs  to  a  conclusion,  then  —  I  don't  see 
what  becomes  of  the  preamble  to  the  Declaration 
of  Independence  of  these  United  States." 

"  Or  of  any  united  state  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Sud- 
ley,  laughing. 

"  You  punned  ;  I  did  n't,"  quoth  the  doctor. 

Mrs.  Sudley  turned  to  Mr.  King.  "  Dr.  Harri 
man  has  explained  '  tentative  acquaintance,' ''  she 


KEEN  DEFINITIONS.  Ill 

said.  "  Suppose  you  instruct  us  as  to  how  it  is  a 
'  self-defeating  experiment '  ?  " 

Putnam  King  was  absolutely  grave.  His  boyish 
banter  was  laid  aside.  At  this  moment  he  seemed 
the  maturer  of  the  two  men.  "  I  think,"  he  said, 
"by  being  a  trying  on  of  an  intimacy  that  is  not  ex 
pected  necessarily  to  last.  There  isn't  any  real  test 
in  it.  It  assumes  what  was  first  to  be  found  out  ; 
leaving,  as  the  only  thing  to  be  found  out,  the  prob 
able  mistake.  I  think  acquaintance  needs  to  be 
a  slower,  more  mixed,  process ;  that  people  should 
see  each  other  in  their  other  relations,  where  the 
play  of  character  comes  out.  Monopoly,  through 
a  mere  p-issing  attraction,  is  n't  acquaintance  at 
all.  Two  persons  are  just  what  they  choose  to  seem 
to  each  other,  for  the  sake  of  pleasing.  It.  is  n't  a 
fair  thing,  especially  to  a  woman." 

"  Where  is  the  unfairness,  if  it  is  understood  as 
tentative  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Harriman. 

"  In  that  very  understanding,"  replied  Putnam 
King. 

When  the  little  company  had  broken  up,  the  two 
young  men,  at  Dr.  Harriman's  suggestion,  took 
leave  together,  lighted  their  cigars  outside,  and 
walked  in  the  twilight  down  toward  the  Point. 

"  How  much  of  that  was  earnest,  King  ?  "  asked 
the  doctor,  as  they  went  along. 

"  All  of  it,"  replied  Putnam  King,  instantly. 


112  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  How  much  of  it  was  meant  for  me  ?  " 

"  As  much  as  belongs.  As  much  as  you  '11  take. 
As  much  as  you  need." 

"  Thanks.  But  perhaps  my  appropriation  might 
be  in  the  way  of  somebody  else  getting  a  fair  share. 
There  are  girls  who  will  flirt,  my  friend." 

"  Then  I  think  the  question  of  tentative  acquaint 
ance  would  be  set  aside.  But  I  only  speak  for  my 
self.  The  girl  whom  I  marry  will  be  the  girl  who 
won't  flirt." 

"The  definite  article  is  well  put.  There  may 
be  one  such  girl  to  a  half  dozen  square  miles  of 
civilization.  I  'm  of  your  mind,  precisely  ;  but  the 
world  is  small ;  we  might  run  against  each  other." 

How  much  was  meant,  or  understood,  neither 
knew  as  regarded  the  other.  Each  thought  for 
himself,  however,  that  he  had  learned  something. 

Meanwhile,  two  young  women  who  had  listened 
to  the  tea-table  debate  with  more  or  less  of  self- 
application,  were  recalling  it  with  characteristically 
different  impressions. 

Connie  Norris  drew  from  it  a  certain  comfort 
able  logical  inference.  It  gave  her  quite  a  little 
elastic  inward  spring  to  think  of  the  "  tentative 
acquaintance  "  between  herself  and  Dr.  Harriman. 
With  his  definition  of  the  thing,  there  must  have 
been  in  it  something  of  meaning,  of  possible  pur 
pose.  What,  then,  had  signified  the  recent  with- 


KEEN  DEFINITIONS.  113 

drawal  ?  Was  it  caution,  or  retreat  ?  Connie 
wished  she  knew.  She  had  been  very  frigid  and 
unfeeling'  elsewhere  lately ;  she  had  gone  as  far 
that  way  as  she  safely  could.  She  had  no  mind  to 
fall  between  two  stools.  Her  fancy  had  been 
taken  with  Dr.  Harriman,  but  he  might  not  mean 
anything,  while  George  Craigan  did.  Moreover, 
though  she  might  appease  young  Craigan  with 
surreptitious  little  relentings,  and  bring  him  back 
at  her  pleasure  to  full  devotion,  it  would  be  harder 
to  satisfy  George  Craigan,  pere,  if  this  stigma  of 
flirt  got  fastened  upon  her  by  too  flagrant  derelic 
tion.  And  the  approval  of  George  Craigan,  ^>ere, 
—  the  solid,  old-fashioned,  money-strong  and  will- 
strong  head  of  the  family  and  firm,  into  the  latter 
of  which  the  son  had  just  been  received,  and  which 
stood  upon  old  hereditary  foundations  begun  away 
back  before  gold  and  telegraphs  and  railroads,  and 
prosperous  all  the  way  down  through  all  the 
changes  and  magnifications  of  business,  —  was  an 
essential  element  in  the  calculation.  Connie  Nor- 
ris  was  a  featherhead ;  but  she  was  not  exactly  a 
fool. 

Cyrilla  Raye  said  to  herself,  recalling  Putnam 
King's  words,  which  had  fallen  upon  some  newly 
developed  sensitiveness  within  her:  "The  play  of 
chanu-ter —  to  be  studied  by  seeing  a  girl  in  her 
other  relations.  What  sort  of  study  would  anybody 


114  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

make  of  me,  that  way,  I  wonder,  —  a  girl  who  never 
had  any  real,  right  relations?  1  have  got  them 
all  to  make,  new,  before  I  shall  be  real,  —  before  I 
shall  have  fair  play  ;  and  who  is  going  to  believe 
it  of  me  ?  Life  is  not  fair,  in  this  world  !  We  are 
begun  at  the  wrong  end,  so  many  of  us  !  But  then, 
if  there  is  a  wrong  end,  I  suppose  it  is  in  ourselves, 
to  begin  with,  or  we  should  n't  be  where  we  are. 
What  is  —  or  ever  was  —  the  beginning  ?  Why 
am  I  Kill  Eaye  ?  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

FOLKS    AND    "  CREETURS." 

PUTNAM  KING  had  arrived  at  Crooke  Corner  at 
one  of  his  irregular  times,  and  had  found  that  his 
aunt  Elizabeth  was  absent. 

The  unfailing  sign  of  the  close -drawn  gray 
shades  did  not  escape  him  as  he  approached  the 
house ;  but  his  step  did  not  slacken,  nor  his  face 
take  on  any  blankness.  It  might  have  been  with 
a  not  uncheerful  sense  of  other  possibilities  that 
he  kept  on  his  way,  and  without  making  evidence 
of  himself  by  any  needless  inquiry,  went  rather 
quietly  upstairs  to  the  library  and  settled  himself 
to  patient  waiting.  Why  he  chose  a  seat  some 
what  retreated  from  the  diminished  light  and  half 
shielded  from  the  rest  of  the  apartment  by  a  large 
picture  upon  an  easel,  may  not  be  a  relevant  con 
sideration  ;  the  result  was,  however,  that  not  long 
after,  Miss  Cyrilla  Raye  came  lightly  up-stairs  and 
into  the  room  where  she  had  been  bidden  to  make 
herself  welcome  at  all  times  ;  and,  quite  uncon 
scious  of  any  other  presence,  pursued  her  evident 


116  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

errand  by  going  directly  across  to  the  opposite 
bookshelves,  where  she  put  up  a  volume  she  had 
brought,  and  began  to  examine  others  of  the  same 
set  that  stood  in  line  with  it. 

Putnam  King  knew  that  they  were  certain  of 
the  writings  of  the  deep  truth-searcher,  Sweden- 
bo  rg.  He  was  interested  to  observe  how  far  her 
investigations  would  go  in  this  direction,  and 
whether,  having  had  one  dip  into  occult  themes, 
she  would  resolve  immediately  upon  a  second.  He 
waited  until  she  had  chosen  her  book,  which  she 
did  after  slightly  turning  the  leaves  of  several  that 
she  took  down  and  put  back  in  succession.  Then 
she  slipped  into  a  cushioned  chair  in  the  east  win 
dow  close  by,  rolling  the  Holland  shade  partly  up 
as  she  did  so.  She  had  committed  herself  to  her 
intention,  opening  her  book  and  beginning  at  its 
first  page,  when  Putnam  King  spoke  ingenuously. 

"  1  won't  interrupt  you,  Miss  Raye,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  it  seems  fair  you  should  know  I  'm  here. 
Now  please  go  on  with  your  book.  I  won't  speak 
again,  if  you  don't  choose.  I  've  got  an  article 
here  in  the  '  Fortnightly.'  " 

Apparently  this  young  man  acted  up  to  his  theo 
ries  when  he  had  the  chance. 

Rill  had  made  a  movement  to  start  up ;  then  she 
checked  herself. 

"  I   don't  know  that  I  shall  go  on,"  she   said, 


FOLKS  AND  "CREETURS."  117 

coolly.  "  I  just  wanted  to  make  up  my  mind. 
When  I  have  done  that  I  shall  go  off,  thank  you." 

"  Could  I  help  you  ?  "  he  asked,  politely,  seeing 
instantly  his  only  possibility.  What  he  wanted, 
of  course,  was  to  study  the  play  of  this  young 
lady's  character  in  relation  to  books.  The  deci 
sions  of  Miss  Raye  would  but  be  precipitated,  he 
was  well  aware,  by  resistance ;  the  making  up  of 
her  mind  might  be  pleasantly,  as  well  as  wisely, 
prolonged.  He  ventured  forward  as  he  spoke,  and 
glanced,  as  with  a  first  notice,  at  the  gap  on  the 
shelf,  and  at  the  corresponding  volume  in  Cyrilla's 
hand. 

"  What  has  sent  you  to  Swedenborg  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  kindly,  curious  tone. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  am  sent,"  she  answered. 
"  I  was  reading  Miss  Phelps,  first.  I  went  '  Beyond 
the  Gates,'  with  her  ;  and  then  I  tried  '  Heaven 
and  Hell.'  One  was  an  imagination  ;  I  thought  I 
should  like  to  see  what  an  authority  would  say." 

"  Do  you  fancy  those  researches  ?  " 

"I  've  had  just  about  enough  of  this  world  to 
want  to  find  out  what  any  other  world  might  be 
like." 

"  And  your  conclusions?  " 

"  The  only  thing  I  've  come  to  —  it  is  n't  a  con 
clusion,  nothing  is,  I  suppose  —  is  an  idea  that 
Swedenborg  did  nt  get  beyond  the  gates." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 


118  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  mean  the  whole  of  it  is  right  here,  without 
going  out  of  this  world  for  it.  As  far  as  I  can 
find  out  from  the  book,  there  is  n't  any  more 
Heaven  than  might  be  now,  if  people  behaved 
themselves  ;  and  —  well,  on  the  whole  —  as  they 
don't,  I  think  this  is  probably  one  of  the  more  re 
spectable  sort  of  hells.  People  are  made  as  com 
fortable  as  they  can  be,  and  they  are  kept  under 
by  laws  and  punishments.  It  answers  to  the  de 
scription  exactly." 

King  laughed.  "  You  are  a  most  original  inter 
preter,"  he  said. 

"  I  wonder  it  never  occurred  to  anybody  before 
—  if  it  did  n't,"  Rill  answered,  with  composure. 
"  I  think  I  '11  take  this,  and  see  if  I  can  make 
anything  more  out  of  the  '  Wisdom  of  the  An 
gels.'  '  She  closed  the  book  in  her  hand,  and  got 
up  to  go.  Evidently,  she  would  not  be  beguiled 
into  forgetting  that  purpose. 

Mr.  King  took  another  book  from  a  higher  shelf, 
where  were  recent  additions  of  fresher  works. 
"  You  will  like  this,  I  think,"  he  said  ;  and  offered 
her  Drummond's  *'  Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual 
World." 

"Thank  you."  She  merely  glanced  at  the  title. 
"  I  will  remember  it  for  next  time,"  she  said  ;  and 
passed  him  with  the  sweetest  smile  of  pertinacity, 
without  another  word,  but  only  a  bowed  good-by. 


FOLKS  AND  "  CREETURS."  119 

She  was  on  the  stairs.  The  front  door  closed 
behind  her.  Mr.  King  stood  still  a  moment ;  then 
he  replaced  the  postponed  Druuamond,  caught  up 
his  hat,  went  out  through  the  little  passage  into 
which  a  further  door  opened,  and  crossing  from 
that  through  the  room  devoted  to  his  own  use  upon 
his  visits,  descended  unobserved  a  narrow,  twisted 
stairway,  and  made  exit  from  the  house  into  the 
orchard  behind.  He  thought  it  would  be  better  to 
arrive  again,  when  he  should  have  taken  a  little 
walk. 

The  chestnut  wood  invited  him,  with  its  broad 
leafage  beginning  to  turn  golden  in  some  places, 
its  soft  tracks  leading  down  into  deeply  shaded 
hollows  where  the  chestnuts  ended  and  old  pines 
sent  up  their  columns  in  multiplied  sweet  vistas,  and 
squirrels  flashed  from  turf  to  summits,  and  far  off 
the  hermit  thrush  whistled  a  late,  lonely  song. 
Between  the  North  Road  and  the  Corner  this  forest 
bit  lay  wild  and  beautiful. 

As  he  went  along  his  thoughts  pursued  the  study 
of  a  character  which  had  given  them  an  occupation 
of  late  increasingly  attractive  ;  this  occupation  it 
self,  very  likely,  suggesting  much  towards  the 
shaping  of  his  notions  to  definiteness  as  concerning 
means  and  methods  in  that  sort  of  observation. 

"  She  is  no  flirt,"  he  said  to  himself  for  some 
thing  like  the  twentieth  time  since  he  had  first 


120  x      A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

heard  Rill  Raye's  name,  and  begun  to  compare 
hearsay  with  illustration.  "  She  disdains  the  com 
mon  opportunities  ;  or  is  it  that  finer  coquetry  of 
nature  which  will  not  make  them,  but  waits  that 
they  shall  be  made?  I  wish  I  knew  if  that  nicer 
coquetry  would  influence  her  toward  me,  —  if  some 
delicate  instinct  of  it  might  lie  in  her  somewhat 
rigorous  reserves."  In  such  wise,  without  set 
words,  his  reflections  ran.  "  It  is  a  shame  these 
people  should  translate  her  by  their  own  little  mis 
erable  vocabulary  !  " 

That  last  thought  did  speak  plain.  He  repeated 
the  four  first  words  with  a  force  that  from  a  differ 
ent  man's  mouth  would  have  had  a  garnish.  But 
Putnam  King  did  not  use  garnish.  Instead  he 
kicked  a  clod  that  lay  in  his  path  very  vigorously 
out  of  his  way. 

"  What  kind  of  a  world  is  she  shut  up  into,  in 
the  midst  of  all  that  is  beautiful  like  this,  and  that 
might  be  dear  and  bright  to  her,  that  she  should 
say  what  she  did  of  the  world  just  now?  A  fel 
low  would  like  to  take  a  case  like  that  in  hand  for 
a  good,  strong  holding  up  — -  and  setting  down." 

There  was  a  hint  of  the  young  lawyer  in  this,  — 
a  hint,  at  least,  of  the  enthusiasm  of  justice  which 
ought  to  make  a  lawyer.  But  when  a  man  takes 
up  in  eager  imagination  the  rights  and  interests  of 
a  charming  young  woman,  the  cliency  and  counsel 


FOLKS  AND  "  CREETURS."  121 

he  imagines  are  very  near  an  identification  of 
cause. 

Walking  in  the  chestnut  wood,  and  on  down 
into  the  pines,  his  thought,  and  others  that  belonged 

* 

and  asserted  themselves  with  it,  grew  and  grouped, 
and  kept  him  beautiful  new  company.  A  presence 
had  come  to  him  ;  and  life  in  this  green  delight 
between  two  dusty  roads  looked  lovely  to  him. 
The  best  things  in  us  —  the  best  that  we  have  or 
dream  of  —  do  not  need  instant  or  continual  pre 
sentment  in  their  outer  fact.  We  go  away  with 
a  word  or  a  glimpse,  and  it  becomes  to  us,  in  a 
blessed  interval  when  nothing  can  contradict,  a 
whole  possession  and  experience.  If  people  only 
knew  how  often  the  glimpses  are  best,  and  would 
not  foolishly  thrust  themselves  upon  each  other ! 
It  was  this  that  Putnam  King  had  sense  of  in  the 
feeling  that  lay  beneath  his  theories  of  tentative 
acquaintance.  But  this  spiritual  tact,  which  is  the 
"  finer  coquetry,"  belongs  to  very  few.  So  the 
world  crowds  and  crushes  and  blunts  out  what  it 
was  meant  to  illustrate,  less  with  outright  showing 
than  with  exquisite  reserves. 

Whatever  it  was  that  had  worked  in  Cyrilla 
Raye  to  put  her  at  this  unconscious  advantage,  it 
had  worked  in  the  higher  ranges  of  her  nature ; 
not  at  all  in  that  region  of  her  which  had  used  to 
concern  itself  with  her  gay  little  passing  relations, 


122  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

and  with  the  contingent  possibilities  to  which  they 
might  some  time  lead.  There  was  none  of  the  spec 
ulation,  or  the  whim,  in  it,  that  would  have  made 
it  a  form  of  coquetry  ;  rather  it  was  a  humility  — 
a  self-depreciation  —  born  in  her  with  the  impres 
sion  that  had  come  to  her  of  fairer  things.  She 
was  held  back  from  such  nonsense  as  she  might 
have  fallen  into  a  while  ago,  by  new  realities  that 
had  entered  her  life.  Her  eager,  repressed  affec 
tions  had  poured  themselves  out  on  Miss  Haven, 
whose  kindness  had  won  her  to  such  admiration 
and  gratitude  as  could  satisfy  themselves  with  no 
thing  less  than  growing  worthy,  —  becoming  what 
could  dare  to  be  transparent  before  such  reading 
and  judgment  as  her  friend's  were  sure  to  be. 

This  feeling  in  her  was  an  absolute  prophylactic 
against  any  temptation  to  silliness  where  Putnam 
King  might  be  concerned  ;  even  if,  besides,  she 
had  not  experienced  such  a  sense  of  sphere  —  not 
mere  worldly,  but  made  up  of  just  those  realities 
which  she  had  begun  to  know  and  long  for —  that 
divided  her,  as  yet,  from  these  persons  so  different 
from  any  she  had  come  in  close  contact  with  be 
fore. 

She  was  too  busy  with  herself  in  these  days  to 
play  the  part  of  mimic  self,  which  is  the  experi 
ment  of  vanity.  She  had  never  lost,  for  a  moment, 
the  strange  effect  and  inspiration  of  that  "  pond 


FOLKS  AND  "  CEEETURS."  123 

lily  room."  Its  lesson  had  gone  straight  to  the 
best  and  truest  in  her.  A  white  stateliness,  a 
sweet,  delicate  pride,  a  fearless  uplifting  from  all 
that  was  low  and  common  into  beautiful,  searching 
light,  —  these  seemed  to  her  now  the  things  to 
be  striven  —  to  be  prayed  for.  She  was  scornful 
of  her  old  self  when  she  thought  about  it. 

And  yet,  there  was  quite  the  chance  that  through 
this  very  awakening  she  might  make  a  vital  mis 
take.  She  would  long  to  live  her  idea,  the  more 
that  it  was  so  fast  outgrowing  her  present  sur 
rounding,  —  so  essentially  changing  herself.  A 
girl  often  marries  as  she  might  even  die  —  in  the 
hope  of  a  new  life  that  she  may  live  more  excel 
lently.  It  is  the  next  chance  and  change  for  her. 
It  is  a  change  of  worlds. 

A  larger  judgment  had  before  this  convinced 
Cyrilla  Raye  that  there  was  nothing  of  meaning, 
nothing  that  could  last  with  either,  perhaps,  in  the 
relations  between  Dr.  Harriman  and  Connie  Nor- 
ris.  It  was  not  the  deep  and  lifelong  reality  that 
it  would  be  such  treachery  to  interfere  with  or  di 
vert.  Interference  would  not  even  be  worth  while. 
A  surer  thing  would  finish  it  with  Connie  any 
day  ;  it  had  flagged  already  to  her  weariness  ;  she 
would  not  wait  through  much  uncertainty ;  she 
would  not  take  the  trouble  to  be  disappointed.  It 
was  but  a  question  of  brief  time. 


124  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Cyrilla  had  been  quick  enough  to  perceive  also 
that  if  she  chose  to  allow  it,  Dr.  Harriman  would 
very  readily  displace  —  she  would  not  deign  to 
think  of  it  as  a  transference  —  his  trifling  atten 
tions  to  Cornelia  Norris  by  a  more  quiet  and  digni 
fied  approach  toward  herself.  Her  expostulation 
with  him,  which  had  been  prompted  rather  by  a 
care  for  Connie's  place  in  general  estimation  than 
by  fear  for  her  peace  of  mind,  had  resulted  in  sim 
ply  strengthening  her  in  this  sense  of  the  matter. 

She  felt  that  Dr.  Harriman  liked  to  be  with  her ; 
that  he  respected  her,  —  she  had  accomplished  that ; 
that  he  sought,  at  least,  to  become  her  friend.  In 
the  refined,  intelligent  intercourse  of  Miss  Haven's 
chosen  little  circle,  she  knew  that  he  appreciated 
her  ;  she  discerned,  also,  the  best  of  him.  If  she 
compared  him  involuntarily  with  Putnam  King, 
that  sense  of  sphere  interposed  directly,  and  for 
her  own  safety  she  shrunk  back  from  a  possible 
preference  or  attraction  that  could  only  disappoint. 
The  one  was  within  her  reach,  the  other  she  might 
not  so  much  as  question  about,  and  she  did  not. 
She  did  not  even  ask  herself  if  there  were  danger. 
She  shut  her  eyes  mentally,  in  pride,  and  walked 
on  ;  only  guarding  herself  carefully  from  least 
seeming  to  account  herself  as  of  account  with  him. 
And  so,  unconsciously,  she  was  already  command 
ing  him,  as  we  and  he  are  finding  out.  Rill  Raye 


FOLKS  AND  "  CEEETUES."  125 

would  be  long  in  imagining  such  a  thing  possible. 
Long  after  she  might  have  gained  that  "  transpar 
ent  worthiness "  she  had  learned  to  covet,  she 
would  still  have  held  herself  in  the  old  scorn.  Her 
aunt  Amelia  had  done  her  this  terrible  injustice 
of  "  mortifying  her  ;  "  of  "  touching  her  pride  "  in 
that  deadly  way  which  destroys  a  pure  self-confi 
dence. 

Putnam  Kinjj  came   back  from   his  wood  walk 

O 

with  certain  things  in  him  grown  clearer  and  more 
purposeful.  lie  was  the  richer  for  his  purposes. 
Plis  faith  in  life  was  warm  and  strong,  grasping 
the  substance  of  things  hoped  for. 

In  such  mood  he  lingered  before  entering  the 
house.  He  turned  his  steps  around  its  westward 
side,  and  paused  when  he  came  to  an  old-fashioned 
settee-rocker  that  stood  in  a  blank  space  against 
the  clapboards.  It  could  not  rock :  it  was  bedded 
in  green  turf  and  pushed  close  up  to  the  building. 
Within  was  Miss  Sarah's  sitting-room.  If  he  passed 
the  door  that  opened  just  beyond  upon  the  grass- 
plot,  he  would  be  seen  and  hailed.  Pie  stopped 
here  and  sat  down.  Presently  he  would  go  back 
and  enter  the  other  way.  He  thought  he  would 
have  a  talk  with  aunt  Elizabeth  to-night. 

But  aunt  Elizabeth  was  not  in  yet,  and  he  felt 
deliriously  lazy.  Warm  shade  and  softened  glow 
were  all  about  him.  Miss  Crooke  had  set  her 


126  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  yard  door,"  as  she  called  it,  open,  and  he  could 
hear  the  short  creak  of  her  rockers  as  she  sat  near 
it  and  vibrated  herself  gently  to  and  fro.  The 
world  was  in  sweet  humor,  and  he  was  in  sweet 
humor  with  the  world;  except  with  that  piece  or 
aspect  of  it  which  had  sent  Rill  Raye  among  Swe- 
denborg's  hells  to  locate  her  own  planet. 

If  that  strange  insight  of  hers  touched  any  truth, 
there  was  at  least  this  comfort  in  it.  The  "  great 
gulf  fixed,"  was  not  impassable  to  all  angel  feet. 
World  interpenetrated  world  —  or  might  do  so. 

He  began  to  see  the  beauty  of  his  aunt  Eliz 
abeth's  coming  here.  Surely  she  had  already 
brought  some  lights  and  airs  of  paradise.  The 
murk  had  cleared  away  from  the  round  of  her  own 
atmosphere ;  she  was  making  a  horizon  of  her 
own.  Crooke  Corner  was  becoming  a  little  Ararat, 
whence  the  evil  floods  were  subsiding,  and  a  sweet 
greenness  was  lifting  up.  Sarah  Crooke  was  learn 
ing  to  look  with  her  beautiful  eye.  He  thought 
that,  perhaps,  he  would  go  in  and  see  Miss  Sarah, 
presently,  for  a  moment,  before  he  went  upstairs. 

But  while  he  sat  there,  a  change  came  upon 
Ararat.  A  cloud  dropped  over  it.  A  surf  of  the 
old,  turbid  deep  swept  in. 

Miss  Sarah's  rockers  hitched  about  with  a  heavy 
shove.  The  quiet  was  broken  by  sharp,  high  tones 
of  voices  that  had  only  learned  to  speak  from  the 


FOLKS  AND  "  CREETUKS."  127 

tops  of  lungs  or  of  souls  ;  upon  Putnam  King's 
ear  there  jarred  the  thin  surface  cackle  that  he  had 
perceived  to  belong  generically  to  the  sort  of  hu 
man  creatures  who  seem  in  the  great  round  of  evo 
lution  to  have  latest  and  most  imperfectly  achieved 
humanity.  They  enter  its  ranks  from  various  lower 
stages  of  approach,  more  or  less  harmful  or  in 
nocent  of  nature  ;  these  two  whom  he  heard  now 
were  of  cruel,  predatory  life,  by  heredity  and  se 
lection. 

Mrs.  Porbeagle  and  Mrs.  Sharke  were  second- 
cousins,  in  the  first  place.  Then  they  were  double 
sisters-in-law,  each  having  married  the  other's 
brother.  Character  tendencies  were  strongly  de 
veloped  by  birth  and  environment.  For  a  Sharke 
to  become  a  Porbeagle,  and  a  Porbeagle  a  Sharke, 
was  to  intensify  strain  in  a  way  only  adequately 
illustrated  by  a  doubling  of  force,  in  a  high  poten 
tial  electric  current. 

What  they -did  not  take  hold  of,  throw  light 
upon,  decompose,  scorch,  shock  and  slay  in  We- 
wachet,  was  simply  beyond  their  circuit,  or  any 
malignant  crossing  of  their  wires. 

I  am  not  going  to  accuse  Mr.  King  by  excus 
ing  him.  He  heard  plainly  enough  the  talk  that 
followed,  and  he  did  not  rise  up  and  go  away. 
If  the  women  had  discussed  their  own  affairs,  ho 
would  have  done  so  at  once  and  gladly ;  or  if  they 


128  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

had  not  begun  forthwith  to  deal  out  upon  the  air 
with  the  freedom  which  premised  that  the  air  was 
welcome  to  it,  and  might  do  what  it  would  with  it, 
the  report-current  of  Wewachet,  he  might  have 
felt  more  scruple ;  as  it  wras,  he  lingered. 

I  am  not  going  to  set  you  listening  to  it  all  with 
him,  my  reader.  I  have  changed  my  mind  about 
that,  though  I  could  make  you  hear  every  word 
that  was  said.  It  is  enough  to  have  one  to  excuse, 
and  the  Sharke  and  Porbeagle  atmosphere  is  not 
pleasant  to  tarry  in.  I  would  have  nothing  to  say 
about  it  at  all,  but  that  we  need  to  know  and  be 
reminded  to  what  stratum,  and  to  what  develop 
ment  of  pestiferous  life,  the  germs  fall  finally  that 
are  blown  often  through  cleaner  places  by  thought 
less  breaths  that  know  not  what  they  circulate. 
Everything  that  fell  into  the  Porbeagle  apprehen 
sion  straightway  took  coarsest,  or  most  venomous 
form,  and  raised  its  head,  presently,  to  poison, 
hiss  and  sting. 

So  what  Mr.  King  heard  them  say  and  re 
hearse  here  to-day,  was  result  and  deduction  from 
any  slightest  little  remote  floats  of  talk,  that  so 
much  as  touched  a  failing  or  hinted  a  possibility 
of  error  or  mistake.  These  had  materialized  to 
statement,  taken  positive  shape  in  malice.  From 
poor  little  Mrs.  Rospey's  domestic  tempers  that 
had  become  standard  chronicle,  and  had  now 


FOLKS  AND  "  CREETURS."  129 

passed  into  current  report  of  her  present  slavery 
to  a  mightier,  if  quieter,  dominance  in  Lmcretia 
Dawse,  who,  "  whatever  had  ailed  the  woman  in 
her  old  tantrums,  had  got  the  upper  hand  of 
her  now;"  with  the  dark  charity  of  a  hint  that 
they  "  did  nt  believe  the  ailing  was  anything 
she  used  to  keep  in  the  cupboard,"  —  to  Mrs. 
Sholto  and  her  stepson,  the  latter  lately  returned 
from  Europe,  and  the  wonderful  harmony  between 
the  two,  —  "  quite  devoted  ;  almost  seems  as  if  it 
might  have  turned  out  full  as  suitable  if  she  'd 
waited  awhile  before  taking  the  colonel,"  —  and 
then  on,  to  Connie  Norris  and  her  "chasing"  of 
Dr.  Harriman,  —  the  miserable,  irresponsible  quot 
ing  of  "  they  says "  and  implications  of  "  they 
might  says,"  continued.  It  was  broken  once,  to 
Putnam  King's  exulting  delight,  by  an  interjection 
from  Miss  Sarah. 

"  They  say  ! "  she  repeated  with  exceeding 
scorn.  "  Then  why  don't  you  stop  saying,  Harriet 
Porbeagle  ?  What  do  you  go  trundling  it  round 
for?" 

An  amazed  silence  followed :  then  it  rippled 
into  speech  again,  begun  more  mildly,  but  soon 
lapsing,  by  unconquerable  tendency,  into  similar, 
slightly  diverted  channels.  And  it  was  now  that 
it  came  close  to  Putnam  King,  —  perhaps  while  it 
was  meant,  covertly,  as  a  little  revenge  upon  Miss 
Sarah  Crooke. 


130  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  Rill  Raye  has  n't  turned  still  and  stiff  for 
nothing  ;  she  knows  what  she  's  about.  She  's 
cunninger  than  Con  Norris.  It  's  a  ring-around-a- 
rosy,  this  chasing  or  being  chased  ;  only  depends 
on  the  distance  you  pretend  to  keep,  for  the  look 
of  the  thing.  Rill  Raye  knows  how  to  lag  back, 
and  chase  too.  It  's  a  circus,  anyway." 

Here  Miss  Crooke  made  her  little  mistake.  It 
was  an  overdoing  of  her  championship,  whence 
came  afterward  a  shadow  of  mischief.  "  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean  about  Rill  Raye,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  can  tell  you  this :  if  she  wanted  —  any 
body  —  she  'd  only  need  to  take  'em.  I  know  one 
or  two  that  I  guess  stands  pretty  near  ready." 

Some  impatient,  contemptuous  sound  escaped 
Putnam  King's  lips ;  he  started  up,  and  his  heel 
struck  the  ground  with  a  stamp,  grazing  a  soft, 
comfortable  fuzzy  coil  that  lay  hidden  beneath  the 
rocker.  The  great  gray  cat  sprang  out  with  forci 
ble  syllabic  remonstrance,  and  rushed  past  the  open 
door,  his  back  arched  and  his  tail  big. 

"What's  that?"  Mrs.  Porbeagle  exclaimed, 
within. 

"It's  George  Washington,"  Miss  Crooke  an 
swered.  "  There 's  something  round  he  don't  like  ; 
I  don't  know  whether  it 's  folks  or  creeturs.  He  's 
a  very  sincere  cat ;  he  always  speaks  himself  right 
out." 


FOLKS  AND  "  CREETURS."  131 

With  George  Washington  to  cover  his  retreat, 
Mr.  King  withdrew  in  good  order  ;  but  it  was  a  pity 
he  could  not  have  heard  Miss  Sarah's  explanation. 

The  talk  that  he  thought  he  would  have  with  his 
aunt  that  night  resolved  itself  into  two  or  three 
brief  sentences  at  bedtime.  They  had  played  chess 
together,  he  had  read  aloud  to  her  an  article  from 
Scribner's ;  they  had  spoken  of  half  a  dozen  differ 
ent  things,  but  not  till  he  stood  up  to  say  good 
night  did  the  words  come  that  showed  some  flash 

o 

of  what  had  been  burning  unspoken  in  him  all 
the  while. 

"  Aunt  Elizabeth,  I  think  this  world  is  getting 
to  be  —  to  have  places  in  it  —  that  it  is  n't  fit  a 
real,  sweet,  delicate  woman  should  be  born  into. 
They  talk  of  climate  changing  ;  it  's  more  than 
that.  I  believe  it  is  what  Miss  Raye  called  it  this 
afternoon." 

"What  did  she  call  it?"  Miss  Haven  asked, 
passing  by  all  surprise,  or  inquiry  of  the  afternoon. 

"  She  said  it  was  just  after  the  description  of  one 
of  Swedenborg's  hells." 

Aunt  Elizabeth  was  silent.  She  was  not  curious 
for  disquisition ;  what  she  was  curious  for  she 
thought  it  quite  as  prudent  not  to  ask  about. 

"  Aunt  Elizabeth,  Rill  Raye  needs  to  be  taken 
care  of.  She  needs  to  belong  to  somebody  who  can 
change  her  world  for  her." 


132  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  suppose  she  does  so  belong,"  said  Miss  Ha 
ven  to  that,  gravely.  "  But  we  human  beings  need 
to  be  very  careful  what  we  assume  or  undertake  as 
regards  each  other's  worlds." 

"  Suppose  a  human  being  finds  his  own  world 
getting  involved  ?  " 

"  Then  I  think  the  human  being  should  be  all 
the  more  careful,  and  wait  until  he  is  pretty  sure 
of  everything." 

"  Ah,  you  forget  the  '  human,'  though  we  have 
been  saying  it  all  the  time,"  returned  Putnam, 
laughing.  But  he  did  not  say  any  more  that  night 
of  all  he  had  thought  he  had  to  say. 

Perhaps  he  had  said  enough  ;  and  perhaps  Miss 
Elizabeth  had  given  him  the  wisest  and  kindliest 
answer  possible.  At  any  rate,  he  feared  to  pro 
voke  by  persistence  or  haste  a  less  tolerant  one. 

In  those  same  evening  hours,  the  Porbeagles 
and  the  Sharkes  had  got  together  at  the  Hammer 
heads  (^.  v.,  Encyc.  Brit.)  for  a  game  of  whist  and 
a  lobster  salad.  In  the  symposium  over  these,  it 
was  asserted,  as  an  authentic  piece  of  information, 
that  Rill  Raye  had  her  choice  of  two  offers,  —  from 
Dr.  Harriman  and  from  young  lawyer  King. 

"  Then  Dr.  Harriman  is  a  shameful  jilt !  "  cried 
young  Mrs.  Sphyrna  Hammerhead,  tempestuously. 
"  And  I  wish  somebody  would  just  tell  him  so  !  " 

"I  should  n't  crave  the  job,"  said  her  husband, 


FOLKS   AND  "  CREETURS."  133 

dropping  his  heavy  under  jaw  with  a  cold,  hard 
laugh. 

But  the  word  was  spoken  and  went  on  its  way. 
Of  course  it  drifted  down  to  the  Point,  eddied  back 
to  Crooke  Corner,  and  even  swept  around  the 
North  Road,  where  Miss  Bonable  heard  it.  And 
the  view  she  took  of  it  was  not  comfortable  for 
Rill  Raye. 


CHAPTER  XL 

SHEPAUG. 

THE  time  had  arrived  for  the  picnic  to  Shepatig. 
All  Wewachet  was  full  of  it.  The  odor  of  prepa 
ration  was  in  everybody's  oven  or  boiler.  The 
odor  of  anticipation  was  in  thoughts  and  talk. 
The  pulse  of  pleasure,  hope,  anxiety,  was  in  heart 
and  vein  with  several.  It  was  to  be  a  point  of  his 
tory  with  some.  Therefore  we  must  go  to  Shepaug, 
reader,  whether  you  like  picnics  or  not. 

Dr.  Harriman  was  going.  It  would  be  very  un 
popular  to  stay  away.  Besides  which,  it  would  not 
mend  his  present  matters,  and  he  felt  they  were  in 
some  need  of  mending.  Something  might  even  be 
advanced,  judiciously,  toward  a  future,  fine,  "  far-off 
event"  which  he  had  begun  to  perceive  he  might 
desire  ;  which  he  meant,  gradually,  to  place  himself 
in  a  fair  position  to  desire,  and  to  realize,  when  the 
time  should  come ;  though  he  still  said  to  himself, 
with  a  steadfastness  not  altogether  unworthy,  that 
the  time  might  not  be  yet.  He  thought  he  could 
gently  smooth  the  way  for  it ;  set  his  face,  even,  in 


SHEPA  UG.  135 

that  direction,  so  that  he  might  be  first  upon  the 
road.  He  did  not  suppose  that  any  other,  younger 
man,  with  no  actual  start  in  the  world,  would  be 
in  greater  obvious  hurry  than  himself. 

He  knew  what  people  were  saying  ;  he  knew  the 
complications  into  which  he  had  fallen  ;  these  med 
dling  interferences  would  make  it  yet  more  difficult 
for  him  to  place  things  exactly  as  he  wished  they 
should  stand.  For  that  very  reason,  he  must  take 
some  initial  measures  at  once.  He  wished,  at  any 
rate,  to  be  a  gentleman,  to  put  himself  into  the  at 
titude  of  one.  There  should  be  no  more  flirting 
with  Connie  Norris  ;  there  could  be  nothing  deci 
sive  elsewhere  ;  but  he  would  like  to  explain  him 
self  a  little  to  Rill  Raye.  That  was  as  far  as  he 
had  got  in  his  determinations.  We  shall  see  how 
he  succeeded  in  carrying  them  out. 

Connie  Norris  was  going,  as  we  know.  Nothing 
short  of  broken  bones,  or  a  serious  illness,  would 
detain  her.  She  regarded  it  as  a  crisis.  It  would 
be  such  opportunity  as  must  bring  out  whatever 
valued  opportunity,  or  show  plainly  that  the  value 
was  not  there.  She  was  tired  of  railway  trains, 
and  the  necessity  for  purpose  too  resolved  and  con 
spicuous  in  its  demonstration  to  be  expected  before 
fixed  rows  of  eyes.  The  free  solution  of  a  merry 
company  in  the  wide  spaces  of  Shepaug  would  be 
better,  and  would  offer  surer  test.  If  nothing  crys- 


136  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

tallized  there,   the   fault  would  be    in  elementary 
attraction. 

Connie  Norris  made  up  her  prettiest  toilet,  took 
care  of  herself  to  be  in  her  prettiest  looks,  and  put 
her  fortune  "  to  the  touch,  to  win  or  lose  it  all." 
She  did  not  "  fear  her  fate  too  much,"  for,  in  the 
worst  result,  there  would  be  George  Craigan,  the 
fine  old  place,  and  "  the  business"  of  which  he  was 
never  tired  of  talking,  now  that  he  was  in  it  and, 
as  he  thought,  "  magna  pars"  It  was  a  rather 
nice  lodgment  of  jackstraws  to  handle,  undeniably. 
Connie  was  fluttered  a  bit  when  she  thought  of  it ; 
but  it  was  a  difficulty  to  stimulate  the  delighted 
dexterity  of  a  thorough  little  flirt,  which  Connie 
Norris  was.  If  she  could  pick  out  the  prize  piece 
from  the  pile  !  And  if  only  they  would  not  jog- 
gle! 

She  had  heard  the  talk  about  Cyrilla  Eaye  and 
her  two  offers,  but  it  did  not  trouble  her  very 
much.  The  story  went  too  far.  She  knew  very 
well  there  had  not  been  two  offers.  She  did  not 
believe  there  would  be  ;  Rill  Raye  did  not  know 
how  to  manage  matters,  for  all  her  tacks  and 
turns.  She  was  more  in  love  with  old  Miss  Haven 
than  anybody  else,  and  with  making  herself  up 
to  old  Miss  Haven's  standard.  Connie  had  pene 
tration  enough  to  see  this,  from  outside  evidence, 
far  as  she  was  from  sympathetic  understanding. 


SHE P AUG.  137 

It  only  made  her  own  little  game  of  jackstraws 
more  exciting ;  there  would  be  the  delight  of  puz 
zling,  and  perhaps  surprising,  all  Wewachet.  She 
was  spurred,  but  in  no  whit  discouraged. 

Cyrilla  Raye  was  neither  satisfied  nor  expectant. 
It  was  always  herself  that  she  quarreled  with, 
and  she  looked  for  no  beautiful  thing  that  should 
befall  her  or  surprise  anybody.  Why  should  any 
such  thing  come  which  could  only  come  by  force 
of  that  in  her  which  she  knew  she  had  not  ?  She 
would  not  care  for  liking  that  was  drawn  fro  what 
she  was  ;  she  did  not  like  or  approve  of  herself,  as 
she  compared  herself  with  the  ideal  growing  in 
her,  and  gathered  from  such  different  being.  Per 
haps  before  she  could  stand  out  in  the  light  —  the 
very  "  light  of  the  living  "  —  in  which  the  regard 
she  might  imagine  as  worth  while  could  corne  to 
her  and  claim  her,  she  would  have  to  live  out  all 
her  disciplinary  years  in  such  companionship  as 
might  happen.  She  might  have  to  content  herself 
with  the  less,  knowing  that  all  it  could  be  to  her 
would  be  but  a  shadow  of  the  greater.  Was  this 
what  her  piece  of  the  world  was  meted  to  her  for, 
just  now  and  here?  Was  this  why  she  was  Rill 
Raye? 

She  was  displeased  with  herself  for  the  truest 
things  she  had  done,  because  of  her  way  of  doing 
them.  Why  had  she  been  so  rough  and  blunt  with 


138  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Dr.  Harriman  ?  Why  should  she  have  taken  upon 
herself,  in  such  outright  fashion,  to  rebuke  or  set 
him  rio-ht,  when  there  was  so  much  to  set  rip'ht  in 

o  o 

her  own  self  ?  It  was  her  own  self  she  had  thought 
of  when  she  had  said  the  hardest  thing  was  self- 
blame  ;  but  it  had  not  seemed  or  sounded  so,  she 
knew.  Why  could  she  do  nothing  except  with  an 
outbreak  and  extravagance  ? 

What  had  she  snubbed  Putnam  King  for,  be 
cause  she  did  not  choose  to  stay  there  talking  with 
him  alone,  as  Connie  Norris  might  have  done  ? 
Connie  Norris  would  at  least  have  been  sunny  and 
merry  and  pleasant.  Why  must  Rill  Raye,  in 
trying  to  reject  a  silliness  of  character,  reject  with 
it  all  that  was  sweet  and  gracious  ;  casting  off  one 
sort  of  person  that  she  had  resolved  she  would  not 
be,  without  taking-  on  the  likeness  or  reality  of  a 
higher  sort  ?  Why  could  she  not  say  and  do 
things  as  —  Margaret  Rextell,  or  any  girl  that 
might  be  invited  into  that  pond  lily  room  —  would 
do  them  ? 

"  Why  do  I  always  take  the  bull  by  the  horns,  — 
with  aunt  Amelia,  and  all?  "  she  demanded  of  her 
self.  "Why  could  n't  I  have  been  civil  for  a 
minute  or  two  with  Mr.  King1,  and  then  walked 
off,  all  the  same?  It  was  just  as  if  I  thought 
he  needed  to  be  —  I  wonder  what  he  thought 
about  it !  And  —  I  don't  care  !  "  She  grew  inco- 


SHEPA  UG.  139 

herent  and  angry,  and  foolishly  mendacious  with 
herself. 

She  told  herself  also  that  slie  did  not  care  for 
these  last  rumors  that  had  got  afloat,  and  which 
had  caused  aunt  Amelia  to  feel  in  duty  bound  to 
"  mortify  "  her  afresh. 

"  A  girl  does  n't  get  talked  of  that  way,  unless 
she  talks  —  or  acts  —  herself,"  was  what  Miss  Bon- 
able  had  said  ;  and  although  it  did  not  hurt  Rill 
as  accusation  from  her  aunt,  it  did  thrust  deep 
with  a  misgiving  of  what  Mr.  King  might  think 
if  the  word  had  reached  him.  But  she  "  did  not 
care."  No,  —  she  would  not  care  for  anything. 
What  was  the  use?  A  girl's  life  was  hard,  that 
was  all.  And  this  world  was  —  well,  it  was  not 
heaven,  certainly. 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  she  went  to  Shepaug. 

Miss  Haven  was  away  at  Newport ;  and  PuAam 
King  was  off  also.  If  there  had  been  anybody 
whom  he  really  cared  to  talk  to  —  in  libraries,  by 
chance  —  Hill  liaye  thought  he  would  have  cared 
to  come,  and  find  the  person  here,  in  these  places 
where  to  walk  and  talk  would  be  so  beautiful.  But 
he  had  gone  off  to  Newport,  or  somewhere  else ; 
he  disliked  picnics  ;  and  he  did  not  care  at  all.  He 
was  very  likely  offended  with  her,  to  begin  with  ; 
he  was  not  such  a  one  as  would  need,  or  take, 
twice  snubbing.  She  had  done  her  duty  bravely, 


140  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

but  she  had  clone  it  with  a  rudeness.  Clearly,  she 
was  not  in  the  same  range  with  what  she  most 
appreciated  and  desired.  She  was  just  nowhere. 
And  so  she  had  shown  herself  to  be,  and  Mr.  King 
had  seen  it.  On  the  top  of  all,  had  come  this  im 
pertinent  buzz  about  him.  No  wonder  he  had 
gone  to  Newport,  or  the  Adirondacks,  or  wherever 
it  was. 

Well  —  it  made  no  difference.  Things  would 
not  have  been  otherwise,  anyway.  All  she  could 
do  was  to  keep  on  with  what  she  had,  and  be  — 
what  she  was  able.  Perhaps  by  the  time  she  was 
forty  or  fifty  years  old,  she  might  have  made  her 
own  individual  place,  and  become  some  sort  of  in 
dividual  creature  that  she  would  not  be  ashamed 
of.  It  was  not  in  Rill  Raye  to  sit  down  and  de 
spair.  She  would  not  have  done  it  if  she  had  been 
assi%ed  that  her  theories  upon  the  Swedenborgian 
system  were  true.  There  were  birds  and  sunshine, 
clear  air  and  running  water  in  the  world,  evil  place 
though-  it  had  got  to  be  through  human  importa 
tion.  And  there  were  human  spots  of  excellent 
sweetness  in  it  yet,  she  knew.  She  might  come  to 
some  of  them  by  and  by,  that  would  own  her  and 
take  her  in.  She  had  Miss  Haven  now.  She  was 
sure  of  Miss  Haven  through  all  report  ;  and  she 
would  not  misuse  her  favor.  But  she  would  go  to 
see  her  in  the  mornings,  she  thought,  for  a  time. 


SHEPAUG.  141 

There  were  green  woods  and  birds  and  sunshine 
and  bright  waters  at  Shepaug.  Very  well ;  then 
Shepaug  had  something  for  her,  even  if  all  We- 
wachet  were  there  too.  She  would  simply  go  to 
Shepaug,  for  Shepaug  itself,  and  let  the  pickers 
and  the  nickers  take  care  of  themselves. 

Putnam  King  stayed  away  from  Wewachet.  He 
did  not  care,  for  his  own  part,  for  the  word  that 
was  running  round  there.  But  he  would  not  sub 
ject  Rill  Raye  to  any  more  observation  or  annoy 
ance.  He  would  not  let  her  think  he  had  had  any 
chance  to  hear.  He  would  turn  the  tide  of  gossip 
if  he  could.  By  and  by  he  could  come  again.  In 
his  own  way,  and  at  the  right  time,  he  could  speak 
his  own  word. 

He  accompanied  his  aunt  to  Newport,  and  then 
went  to  join  some  friends  for  a  week  or  two  in  the 
Adirondacks.  It  would  be  his  last  lengthened 
holiday  for  a  good  while.  In  November  he  was 
to  enter  a  law  office,  where  the  chief  was  among 
the  foremost  in  his  profession,  and  where  a  young 
man  might  look  for  advancement  in  his  work  as 
fast  as  he  could  take  it.  There  was  business  over 
flowing  into  other  hands,  continually  ;  Mr.  Arbi- 
con  would  not  have  more  than  two  regularly  in 
stalled  under  him  at  a  time ;  but  those  two,  he 
said,  must  be  of  the  sort  to  come  up  alongside. 

The  bit  of  Shepaug  which  makes  the  pleasure 


142  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

ground  to  which  our  friends  repaired,  is  as  pretty 
a  spot  and  as  unlike  anything  but  itself  as  can  be 
found  among  New  England  hills  and  streams. 
Shepaug  river  makes  a  wonderful  loop  around  a 
pile  of  ledge  and  its  marginal  wooded  slope  and 
level :  tracing  through  the  meadows  a  sign  like 
that  of  the  Greek  Omega,  or  the  "  eye "  which 
is  made  for  a  hook  to  catch.  It  leaves  almost 
islanded  —  enough  so  for  it  to  be  called  Shepaug 
Island  —  the  beautiful  great  green  heap  which 
rears  up  from  its  watersides.  The  river  loop  is 
flung  toward  Wewachet ;  it  doubles  and  redoubles 
itself  opposite,  at  north  and  south  of  a  narrow  isth 
mus,  which  is  little  more  than  a  broad  roadway, 
shrubbery -fringed,  at  once  entrance  and  exit  of  the 
drive  which  follows  round  the  water  line. 

There  are  two  ways  of  reaching  Shepaug  Island 
from  Wewachet :  by  carriage,  around  over  one  of 
the  two  bridges  at  the  North  and  South  Mills,  or 
directly  across  by  boat  to  a  pretty  landing  on  the 
fair,  outcurving  hither  bank.  The  river  is  wide 
and  deep  here,  spreading  up  over  the  Wewachet 
meadows  ;  the  current  widens  and  slackens,  and  is 
safe  to  stem.  Many  of  the  picnickers  chose  the 
boating  access  ;  but  three  great  "•  barges  "  —  those 
curiously  misnamed  vehicles  which  sail  overland 
by  horse  power  —  conveyed  a  goodly  number  of 
merry  folk;  and  all  sorts  of  private  conveyances, 


SHEPAUG.  143 

from  landaus  and  victorias  to  modest  buggies  and 
small  wagonettes,  complemented  the  further  re 
quirements,  and  made  gay  the  Old  West  Road  and 
tlu-i  Otterbury  Turnpike. 

For  ourselves,  we  need  take  neither  way ;  we 
simply  wish  to  be  there ;  and  with  a  thought- 
spring,  we  may  alight  among  the  rapidly  assem 
bling  groups  that  are  finding  their  relations  and 
taking  form  and  place  here  and  there  about  the 
landing  -  head,  or  deeper  in  the  pleasant  wood 
glades ;  or  up,  with  adventurous  feet,  along  the 
sides  and  crest  of  the  beetling  ridge,  upon  its 
mossy  rocks  and  among  sweet-smelling  cedars. 

A  young  party  had  quickly  established  itself 
upon  a  well  known  jut,  commanding  and  overlook 
ing  the  lovely  river  bends,  and  uplifted  into  the 
soft,  sunny  air  so  high  that  it  seemed  doubly 
islanded,  —  by  the  fair  waterflow  far  down,  and 
by  the  buoyant  ocean  of  the  atmosphere.  Here 
Dr.  Harriman  presently  found  Rill  Raye,  Connie 
Norris,  Sue  Wilder,  with  half  a  dozen  other  girls, 
and  an  escort  of  young  men,  among  whom,  closely 
attendant  upon  Connie  Norris,  was  Mr.  George 
Craigan,  quite  faultlessly  attired  in  summer  suit 
of  gray,  with  a  sprig  of  dull-green  savin  and  its 
bloomy  clusters  of  gray  berries  in  his  buttonhole. 

Connie  Norris  had  given  it  to  him,  as  "  just 
matching ;  "  and  then  had  set  him  off,  with  pur 
posed  mischief,  upon  his  "  hobby-stilts." 


144  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  get  away  so  early," 
she  had  said.  "  What  will  become  of  things  in 
Berkshire  street  without  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  have  got  nearly  settled  there  ;  and  it 's 
a  grand  move,  I  can  tell  you,  Miss  Connie.  We 
ought  to  have  had  that  branch  long  ago.  And 
there  arc  other  things  we  're  thinking  of  —  not 
quite  matured  as  yet ;  but  they  '11  lead  to  a  good 
deal  by  and  by.  We  're  going  to  manage  our  for 
eign  purchasing  differently ;  I  may  be  abroad  next 
year,"  he  added,  lowering  his  voice  to  Connie's  pri 
vate  ear,  as  a  proper  business  reticence  required. 

"  Ah,  indeed  ? "  the  girl  returned  carelessly. 
"  In  that  case,  whom  do  you  leave  in  your  place 
here  ?  I  hope  you  find  your  father  of  consider 
able  use  to  you  in  your  business,  Mr.  George  ? " 
She  raised  her  tone  with  the  question  ;  it  was  too 
good  a  hit  not  to  have  an  audience. 

Dr.  Harriman  came  up  in  time  to  hear  it.  He 
turned  a  little,  and  lingered,  postponing  his  greet 
ing,  while  the  half-restrained  laugh  followed  which 
recognized  the  shrewdness  of  the  sarcasm. 

George  Craigan  was  less  obtuse  in  his  conceit 
than  he  might  have  seemed.  There  was  something 
of  an  honest  dignity,  as  well  as  of  provoked  per 
ception,  in  his  reply. 

"  My  father  is  the  business,"  he  answered  her. 
"I  am  trying  to  be  of  use  as  fast  as  I  can."  And 


SHEPAUG.  145 

with  that,  he  also  turned  away  a  little.  Connie 
Norris  was,  for  the  moment,  left  at  disadvantage. 
But  she  recovered  herself,  with  her  invariable 
light  agility. 

"  Now  that  was  very  well  put,  George,"  she  said, 
making  an  easy  little  step  and  turn  that  brought 
her  facing  him  again.  "  I  like  it  of  you.  You 
must  not  mind  my  fun." 

The  calling  him  by  his  name,  which  she  did  now 
and  then  with  a  reversion  as  of  old  habit  to  the 
familiarity  of  their  childhood,  appeased  him  ;  and 
Connie  could  certainly  put  a  witchery  of  coaxing 
into  her  voice.  But  it  was  not  altogether  enough. 
"  I  wish  you  were  ever  a  little  in  earnest,"  he  said  ; 
and  then  he  really  did  turn  off,  speaking  to  Edith 
Pinceley,  and  Connie  could  not  persist. 

"  That  was  rather  too  bad,"  said  Dr.  Harriman 
to  Rill  Raye.  "  The  young  man  deserves  better 
of  her." 

"  Perhaps  he  deserves  better  "  —  and  then  Rill 
stopped. 

"  Than  to  have  anything  of  her  ?  "  and  Dr.  Har 
riman  laughed  gently. 

'•  I  do  not  think  —  we  —  have  any  right  to  say," 
returned  Cyrilla.  gravely,  leaving  Dr.  Harriman 
to  Connie  herself,  who  approached  him  gayly, 
claiming  him  for  some  game  they  were  about  to 
play. 


146  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  What  game  is  it  you  propose,  Miss  Connie  ?  " 
asked  the  doctor. 

"  Candor,"  replied  Connie,  gleefully.  "  We  're 
to  make  everybody  tell  the  truth  about  something, 
once.  Come  !  " 

Cyrilla  found  herself  a  place  a  little  way  off,  not 
quite  separating  herself  from  the  others,  but  secur 
ing  a  slight  isolation  under  the  small  shadow  of  a 
green  cedar,  into  an  angle  of  whose  dividing  stem 
she  leaned  comfortably.  The  air  and  light  were 
very  sweet  about  her.  There  was  wide  room, 
above,  around,  away  from  the  little  noisy  human 
group  which  could  take  up  but  such  trifling  space 
and  time  here,  where  all  had  been  so  broad  and 
still  and  leisurely  before  it  came,  and  would  be 
again  after  it  had  gone.  There  wras  rest  and  rec 
ompense  in  the  perception  ;  she  thought  after  all 
it  was  the  secret  thing  that  made  the  charm  even 
to  heedless  people,  bringing  their  pleasure  out 
from  their  house  walls  into  this  great,  rich,  open 
world. 

"  See  here  !  "  called  Connie  Norris's  voice  with 
gay  intrusion  ;  "  you  shall  have  a  fair  alternative. 
You  may  guess  a  conundrum,  or  give  a  definition, 
instead.  Question  and  word  for  the  whole  party  at 
once.  Ten  minutes  allowed  for  reflection.  Here 
are  paper  and  pencils.  Each  one  is  to  hand  in  a 
written  answer  —  or  be  put  upon  the  stand  ! 


SHE P AUG.  147 

Listen  !  —  Oh,  first,  if  any  duplicate  answers  are 
given,  —  unless  they  are  the  right  ones,  —  each 
person  will  have  to  pay  the  forfeit." 

"  Then  wrong  guesses  will  be  permitted  to 
count  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  if  they  are  real  guesses  ;  if  they  have 
any  point." 

"  Who  shall  decide  the  point?"  asked  Dr.  Har- 
riman. 

"  Where  there  is  any  doubt,  we  will  put  it  to  the 
vote." 

"  And  we  may  define  —  or  divine  —  whichever 
we  please  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  definitions  are  to  be  in  verse." 

"  O  —  h  !  " 

"  Xow  !  What  was  the  first  thing,  that  we  know 
of,  in  the  history  of  the  world  ?  —  that  's  the  co 
nundrum  ;  —  and,  —  What  is  a  dude  ?  —  that 's  the 
creature  to  be  defined." 

"The  first  thing?  the  first  that  was  made,  or 
that  happened,  or  was  done  ?  " 

"  Either,  all  three  ;  that  's  your  business." 

"  I  wonder  what  her  own  is  —  in  this  inven 
tion,"  said  Dr.  Harriman  to  Rill  Raye,  beside 
whom  he  came  and  placed  himself.  "  She  will 
forget  the  conditions,  in  laying  them  down  for  us, 
and  will  fall  under  forfeit." 

Rill  thought  it  might  be  that  was  the  purpose 


148  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Dr.  Harriman  queried  aboiit ;  but  she  did  not  say 
so.  She  wrote  three  small  words  upon  her  bit  of 
paper,  folded  it  up,  and  let  her  thoughts  wander 
again,  quite  away  from  the  game  and  the  company 
and  Dr.  Harriman,  into  questions  of  things  harder 
and  wider  to  conjecture  and  define  than  those 
Connie  had  propounded. 

On  his  part,  Dr.  Harriman  wrote  three  words 
also  ;  and  then,  glancing  at  Rill,  and  perceiving 
her  abstraction,  busied  himself  with  another  bit  of 
paper  and  his  pencil,  somewhat  to  his  own  private 
amusement,  it  would  appear,  from  the  very  slight 
play  of  eye  and  lip,  which  nobody,  however,  no 
ticed. 

"  Time  up  !  "  called  George  Craigan,  whom  Con 
nie  had  graciously  installed  as  her  aid-de-camp. 

The  scraps  of  paper  were  collected,  and  George 
and  Connie  read  them. 

Rill  recalled  herself,  and  listened.  All  sorts  of 
small  epigrams  were  perpetrated,  some  of  them 
feeble  enough,  of  course. 

"A  garden  party."  "A  delusion."  "A  legal  ar 
gument."  "  An  informal  lunch."  "  A  philosophi 
cal  experiment."  "  An  apple  slump."  "  A  mis- 
take"  "  A  confidence  game."  "  A  caucus."  "  A 
sewing  circle."  "  A  family  move."  "  A  woman's 
rights  convention."  "  The  Dude  himself." 

"  Half  of  those  won't  do,"  remarked  the  doctor, 


SHEPA  UG.  149 

in  another  aside  to  Rill.  "  They  presuppose  some 
thing  else." 

"  They  won't  find  that  out,"  said  Rill.  "  And  if 
they  did,  there  's  always  something  back  of  every 
thing.  Where  would  be  the  end  ?  " 

"Or  the  beginning?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Is  there  any  difference  ?  Which  was  presup 
posed?" 

"  Ah,  you  go  very  deep,  Miss  Raye !  " 

"  I  don't  imagine  this  conundrum  does.  It  is 
probably  something  very  literal.  There  is  the 
catch." 

Rill  was  right.  No  answer  was  challenged ; 
people  were  satisfied  to  be  amused  even  slightly. 

"  There  are  two  answers  identical,"  announced 
Miss  Norris  ;  "  Dr.  Harritnan's  and  Rill  Raye's  : 
'  The  First  Day.'  They  must  pay  the  forfeit. 
And  yet,  they  are  nearest  right  of  any.  Why 
could  n't  you  all  see  ?  It  was  simply  a  revolution. 
What  else  could  have  happened  first  ?  " 

"  Where  is  your  answer,  Miss  Connie  ? "  de 
manded  the  doctor. 

"  Oh,  I  knew,  you  see." 

"  Then  you  must  do  as  Eve  did,  —  pay  the 
penalty  of  your  knowledge.  But  perhaps  you  have 
defined?" 

"  No,  I  forgot.     But  I  will." 

"Too  late.     Time 'sup." 


150  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

There  was  an  acclaiming  laugh,  and  Connie 
accepted  the  position.  "  Very  well  ?  "  she  said, 
interrogatively,  and  awaited  Dr.  Harriman's  ques 
tion. 

But  Dr.  Harriman  turned  to  George  Craigan. 
"  Mr.  Craigan  has  the  best  right,"  he  said.  "  He 
leads  the  game  —  after  yourself,  Miss  Connie. 
Mr.  Craigan,  what  have  you  to  ask  Miss  Nor- 
ris?" 

A  smile  ran  round,  and  George  Craigan  blushed. 
Connie  Norris  looked  a  trifle  provoked,  and  Dr. 
Harriman  profoundly  innocent. 

"  Miss  Connie,  what  would  you  —  really  —  like 
best  of  all  things?  "  put  the  catechist,  with  a  mild 
diffidence. 

"  To  be  wildly  adored  !  "  answered  Connie  in 
stantly. 

The  comical  breadth  with  which  she  emphasized 
her  frank  audacity  brought  down  upon  her  a  peal 
of  merriment,  touched  with  applause. 

"  Rill  Raye,  what  would  you  like  best  —  really 
—  of  all  things  ? "  Connie  passed  the  question 
quickly  on. 

"  I  think,  to  be  really  understood,"  said  Cyrilla, 
gravely. 

"  Only  another  form  of  the  same  statement,  pos 
sibly,"  commented  Dr.  Harriman,  sotto  voce,  as 
quite  involuntarily. 


SHEPAUG.  151 

Cyrilla  heard. 

"  Dr.  Harriman,  what  would  you  like  best  ? " 
continued  Connie,  eagerly. 

"To  understand  —  and  to  adore,"  the  doctor 
answered,  with  most  shrewd  division,  or  combina 
tion,  as  it  might  be  taken. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Pinceley,  who  had  rather 
blinked  at  the  gay  allusions  to  Mosaic  records, 
took  it  au  grand  serieux. 

"  A  fine  reply,  Dr.  Harriman,"  he  said.  "You 
have  redeemed  the  play." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  meant  to  —  in  your  sense, 
Mr.  Pinceley,"  said  Dr.  Harriman.  "  I  merely  put 
objectively  the  young  ladies'  subjective  declara 
tions." 

"  No  answer  at  all,  of  your  own,  then !  "  cried 
Connie  Norris  triumphantly.  "  Your  forfeit  is  not 
paid  !  What  "  - 

But  the  doctor  was  too  quick  for  her. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  am  really  at  all  liable,"  he 
said.  "  I  had  a  definition  ready." 

And  Connie,  recognizing  that  his  first  submission 
had  been  quite  gratuitous,  and  to  please  himself, 
was  obliged  to  receive  his  second  folded  paper 
which  he  offered  her.  The  flicker  of  disappoint 
ment  on  her  face,  however,  gave  way  to  an  irre 
sistible  smile,  as  she  glanced  over  it  and  gayly  read 
aloud,  —  "  '  What  is  a  Dude  ? 


152  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  '  If  I  give  you  an  answer  pat  and  good 

Shall  I  win  the  conundrum  cup  ? 
He  's  a  fellow  who  's  done  all  there  is  to  be  do-ed, 
And  is  all  do-ed  up  !  '  ' 

In  the  shout  which  greeted  this  elucidation,  the 
doctor  got  up  and  walked  off,  with  a  leisurely  in 
difference. 

Cyrilla  slipped  away,  also,  to  a  yet  further  dis 
tance,  beyond  her  clump  of  cedars,  escaping  the 
merry  clamor  that  followed,  with  confused  proposi 
tions  for  fresh  diversions,  and  the  new  game  that 
was  presently  insisted  on  and  decided. 

She  went  and  seated  herself  at  the  edge  of  the 
green  bluff,  with  her  feet  upon  a  shelf  of  rock 
below  the  brink.  There  was  something  here,  better 
than  the  nonsense  game. 

She  looked  off  upon  the  calmly  speeding  river, 
its  grand,  blue  curve  thrown  out  around  the  bold 
promontory  with  beautiful  embrace,  —  the  meadow 
and  pasture  lands,  —  the  houses  of  the  various  vil 
lage  neighborhoods,  dotting  with  their  many  tints 
the  open  spaces,  or  showing  with  gleam  of  white 
and  red  and  olive  and  russet,  or  sunshiny  yellows, 
the  warm  blossoming  of  homes  among  the  verdure; 
the  tender  sky  overarching  all,  and  seeming,  as  one 
looked  down  and  up  from  this  mid-perch,  to  lift 
more  magnificently  and  give  larger  room  between 
earth  and  heaven ;  the  air,  all  luminous  with  soft 


SHEPAUG.  153 

hazes,  reflections  of  sweet  tints  from  hill  to  hill 
along  the  horizon,  and  the  already  coming  glory 
which  was  gathering  in  the  westward-rolling  tide 
of  sunlight. 

Cyrilla  thought  of  rooms  in  the  Father's  house, 
made  for  different,  happy  needs  and  natures,  — 
meant,  each  one,  to  meet  and  fulfill  some  answer 
ing  beauty  and  truth  of  life  that  should  be  fit  to 
dwell  there ;  some  soul  of  rose  or  lily,  strength 
of  oak,  or  healing  health  of  pine,  or  generousness 
of  maple,  or  even  sweetness  of  lowly,  faithful 
grasses ;  all  typical,  all  full  of  a  commandment  and 
rebuke,  as  the  pond  lily  room  and  the  wild  rose 
chamber  in  that  gentle  woman's  house  had  been 
to  her. 

Yet  up  into  God's  air  comes  the  smoke  of  strife 
and  sin ;  in  many  a  forest  runs  the  savage  beast ; 
through  tender  grasses  slips  the  serpent !  What 
did  it  all  mean  ?  What  hateful  power  worked  in 
the  world  against  the  diviner  life,  perverting  it  to 
evil  and  mischance  and  pain  and  death  ?  What 
contrariety  worked  in  her  own  life  that  it  was 
not  a  pure  peace,  an  innocent  joy,  a  rich  satisfy 
ing  in  the  midst  of  all  these  shows  and  signs  of 
heaven  ? 

She  did  not  know  how  long  the  time  was ;  she 
was  shielded  from  the  players,  who  had  missed  and 
called  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  with  shouts  and 


154  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

laughter  went  on  with  their  game.  She  was  roused 
up  when  it  was  over  by  a  final  peal  of  merriment 
and  a  movement  of  the  party,  restless  for  some  yet 
new  plan. 

They  strolled  off,  away  from  the  cliff,  and  down 
by  a  path  upon  the  other  side  to  the  pine  woods 
where  the  "  sweet  spring"  and  the  late  violets  were. 

Rill  did  not  seem  to  care  for  either  in  so  much 
company.  She  went  back  to  the  little  beach  and 
the  boat  landing,  and  busied  herself  with  her  aunt 
Amelia  and  the  older  people.  Mr.  Piiiceley  came 
and  talked  to  her ;  she  submitted  with  a  more  do 
cile  gravity  than  usual,  so  that  the  good  man,  be 
lieving  in  sudden  heavenly  changes,  and  watching 
solicitously  for  them  among  his  flock,  began  to  have 
gentle,  kindly  hope  of  Rill. 

She  missed  Miss  Haven.  The  picnic  was  dull ; 
she  would  like  best,  if  she  could,  to  get  away.  I 
am  afraid  she  did  not  even  hear  all  that  Mr.  Pince- 
ley  was  saying.  It  may  be,  however,  that  some 
teaching,  as  true  and  deep,  was  moving  upon  her 
own  thoughts  silently,  and  even  informed  stray 
words  of  the  minister's,  heard  passively,  with 
more  than  he  put  into  them.  We  listen  to  ser 
mons  so. 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  when  she  had  helped 
Miss  Bonable  and  Mrs.  Rospey  at  the  tables,  she 
escaped  again ;  she  turned  off  from  the  pretty  open 


SHEPA  UG.  155 

glade  where  the  repast  was  set,  and  followed  the 
farmers'  cart-track  down  among  the  woods.  She 
had  found  her  opportunity  for  a  little  solitude. 

The  social  drift  had  set  toward  the  river  shore ; 
all  along  the  pebbly  margin,  below  the  fringes  of 
wild  shrubbery,  went  feet  and  voices.  Some  were 
skipping  stones ;  some  were  taking  to  the  boats  to 
row  up  and  down  awhile ;  some  sat  idly  in  the  low 
sunshine,  talking,  joking,  anything. 

Cyrilla  wondered  what  it  all  amounted  to.  She 
had  not  used  to  wonder  in  such  wise.  She  won 
dered  at  herself,  most  of  all,  what  had  come  over 
her.  It  was  as  if  all  of  a  sudden  she  had  the  ques 
tions  of  her  life  to  settle :  why  she  was  Cyrilla 
Raye ;  what,  being  Cyrilla  Raye,  she  was  to  do 
with  this  personality  she  had  charge  of,  and  which 
it  seemed  so  queer  at  once  to  manage  and  to  be. 
There  was  something  behind  everything,  as  she  had 
said  before.  What  she  really  wanted  was  to  under 
stand  herself. 

The  cart-track  sloped  down  from  a  ridge  spur 
over  its  crisp,  moss-cushioned  side,  where  the 
straight,  thick  savins  lifted  up  their  spicy  bosks 
and  made  little  nooks  between  their  groups,  to 
what  seemed  a  plunge  into  deep,  interminable 
woods;  so  tall  and  splendid  grew  the  columnar 
pines,  stretching  their  tasseled  canopies  overhead 
with  interlacing  arms,  so  that  the  blue  patches  of 


156  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

sky  gleamed  through  like  shining  inlay  of  turquoise 
or  lapis  lazuli;  and  the  sunlight,  coming  now  in 
oblique  shafts  from  the  west,  struck  in  between 
branch  and  bole  and  leafage  with  wonderful  illumi 
nation,  as  through  the  windowed  arches  of  a  great 
cathedral  side. 

Close  under  foot,  just  where  Rill  entered  the  for 
est-pile,  grew  in  the  damp  hollow  a  broad  bed  of 
low,  matted,  shining  vines,  the  straight  little  stems 
upholding  each  its  cluster  of  glittering  leaves  of 
darkest  green,  with  finely  serrated  edges :  the  wild 
strawberry  plant  that  made  a  polished,  tesselated 
floor  to  this  porchway  of  the  woods.  Rill  gathered 
a  bunch  and  fastened  it  in  the  front  of  her  gown  ; 
it  lay  against  the  soft,  dull  blue  as  the  richness  of 
oak  leaves  shows  against  the  tenderness  of  the  sky. 
She  had  put  on  a  bit  of  the  uniform  of  nature  ; 
somehow,  it  made  her  feel  more  harmonized  with  it 
all.  I  think  this  innocent,  natural  sacrament  is 
partly  what  leaves  and  flowers  are  made  for. 
"  These  thy  gifts  and  creatures,"  are  all  tokens 
and  signs  ;  the  Holy  Communion  is  in  every  created 
thing.  Therefore,  woe  to  them  who  receive  the 
same  unworthily  ;  who  only  adorn  and  surround 
themselves,  and  so  play  with  the  husks  that  they 
never  find  the  bread  ! 

Rill  did  not  go  far  into  the  wood.  She  knew  it 
would  not  reach  very  much  farther  for  her,  in  this 


SHEPAUG.  157 

sweet  illusion  of  depth.  She  knew  it  would  come 
out  presently  in  sight  of  the  two  farmhouses  that 
were  upon  the  island.  She  sat  down  upon  a  hum 
mock  at  the  foot  of  a  great  oak  which  grew  gra 
ciously  among  the  pines,  and  watched  the  tiny  mo 
tions  of  the  growing  things  low  down  about  her, 
over  which  blew  the  soft  breath  of  the  hardly  sen 
sible  air.  They  felt  it,  —  the  merest  tremble  of  it, 
and  bent  and  quivered  their  little  blades  and  bells  ; 
or,  perhaps,  they  thrilled  to  the  touch  and  stir  of 
things  yet  tinier  than  themselves ;  of  insect  life 
that  ranged  in  the  miniature  forest  of  their  stems. 
Anyway,  as  Galileo  said  of  the  planet,  they  moved. 
They  were  alive ;  and  something  else  was  all  alive 
about  them.  A  little  trickle  from  a  hidden  spring 
ran  its  flashing  thread  in  and  out  between.  It 
was  not  a  brook,  nor  a  rivulet,  nor  even  a  run  ;  it 
was  only  a  creep  of  a  few  drops  at  a  time,  on  their 
slender  way  to  find  some  larger  water  —  which  they 
would  find,  Rill  thought  to  herself.  "  I  am  glad 
it  is  a  live  world,  at  least !  "  she  said,  aloud.  All 
at  once  that  question  came  back  to  her,  with  a 
sweet,  curious  suggestion  in  the  syllables  of  her 
own  name. 

"  Why  am  I  Rill  —  Raye  ?  " 

A  little  trickle  seeking  its  own  larger  life  ;  a 
little  pencil  of  light  sent  from  a  Heart  of  Light,  to 
find  —  to  do  —  to  give  —  something,  somewhere  ! 


158  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

It  flashed  upon  her  suddenly.  "  Why,  I  am 
glad  they  named  me  Rill  Raye !  "  she  said.  "  If  I 
am  that,  I  can  be  content  to  feel  my  way  awhile  !  " 

It  was  the  first  little  real  gospel  that  had  come 
to  her. 

Suddenly,  along  the  path  somewhere  further  on, 
a  child's  cry  sounded.  A  broken  scream,  ejacula 
tions  of  terror,  a  shrill  command  of  expostulating 
fear.  "  No !  no  !  go  —  'way  !  Get  out !  Leave 
me  be!  Don't!  Be  still !  Oh  — h!" 

Rill  sprang  up  and  hastened  forward.  Coming 
around  a  turn  among  the  trees,  she  saw,  just  a  few 
paces  ahead,  a  little  girl,  one  of  the  farmhouse 
children,  struggling  with  a  strong  red  Irish  setter, 
which,  whether  in  play  or  threatening  earnest,  had 
got  the  better  of  the  child,  and  was  overpowering 
its  little  strength,  leaping  upon  and  pulling  her 
down.  The  child  pushed  and  screamed,  and  would 
hold  the  creature  on  the  ground  for  an  instant, 
then  trying  suddenly  to  spring  from  him  and  run. 
away,  would  be  caught  and  overset  again,  the  dog 
tugging  with  short  growling  barks  at  her  clothes, 
and  nosing  at  her  feet,  his  body  curving  and  vi 
brating  from  side  to  side,  and  his  tail  flourishing  in 
high  excitement.  However  it  began,  and  however 
little  it  really  menaced,  the  poor  little  maid  was 
completely  exhausted. 

Rill  rushed  up  and  seized  the  dog  by  the  collar 


SHEPAUG.  159 

with  both  her  hands.  "  Now  run  !  "  she  cried  to 
the  child,  who  with  her  slight  remnant  of  strength 
hurried  off  as  best  she  might  toward  the  open  field 
beyond  which  lay  the  farm  buildings  ;  her  small 
face,  still  dilated  and  distorted  with  the  pale  horror, 
turned  back  again  now  and  then  as  she  ran,  upon 
Rill,  wrestling  in  her  turn  with  the  lithe,  muscular 
brute. 

And  Rill  had  quite  enough  of  it.  There  was 
more  of  the  growl  now  than  the  bark,  in  such 
voice  as  the  dog  could  make  with  two  hands  be 
tween  his  throat  and  collar ;  and  his  eyes  looked 
dangerous. 

How  long  could  Rill  hold  on  ?  For  to  let  go, 
she  did  not  dare.  Would  the  little  girl  think  to 
send  her  any  help  ?  Could  she  drag  the  creature 
out  in  sight  of  the  houses  or  of  any  one  who  might 
perceive  and  come  to  her  ?  She  shouted  in  her 
turn,  but  no  one  seemed  to  hear.  She  knew  the 
picnic  people  were  quite  away,  upon  the  other  side 
of  the  hill,  probably  just  now  gathering  around  the 
tables  for  their  repast. 

"  Oh,  help  !  "  she  cried.  "  Help  !  "  and  the  dog 
sprang  under  her  hands  and  rolled  himself  over, 
with  angry  jaws  uppermost.  She  had  hard  ado 
to  twist  with  him  and  keep  her  grasp.  It  was  a 
battle.  There  was  real  peril.  The  animal  was 
thoroughly  exasperated. 


160  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

But  strong,  quick  steps  came  crashing  along  the 
woodpath,  snapping  the  fallen  stems.  A  man's 
voice  called  out,  '•  Hold  fast !  I  'm  coming !  "  and 
Dr.  Harriman,  running  at  full  speed,  made  a  long 
spring  and  stood  beside  her.  Now  a  second  pair  of 
hands  seized  the  collar,  and  Rill's  were  released. 

"  Can  you  go  to  the  house  or  barn  and  fetch  a 
piece  of  rope,  or  call  somebody  ?  " 

Rill  stopped  for  no  demur  or  thanks,  but  sped 
over  the  grass,  the  way  the  child  had  gone. 

"  Common  sense  !  "  the  doctor  articulated,  be 
tween  his  shut  teeth  and  deep  breaths,  admiringly. 
"I  knew  it!" 

He  held  the  dog  with  a  grip  whose  force  the 
creature  recognized  and  partially  submitted  to  :  the 
doctor,  meanwhile,  dragging  him  along  on  the  way 
that  Rill  had  taken,  so  far  as  the  edge  of  the  wood- 
piece.  Here  he  stopped,  beside  a  strong  young 
ash-tree.  In  three  minutes  Rill  came  flying  back 
again,  a  tying-rein  in  one  hand,  a  bit  of  chain  in 
the  other.  She  had  snatched  the  first  things  she 
could  lay  hands  upon,  in  the  nearest  barn. 

"  Good  !  "  Now  slip  the  chain  under  the  collar, 
between  my  hands  —  so.  Can  you  get  the  strap 
through  the  links  at  the  ends  ?  Very  well !  Dare 
you  try  to  hold  him  a  minute?  " 

For  answer,  Rill  put  her  hands  in  the  place  of 
the  doctor's,  as  he  moved  first  one  and  then  the 


SEEP  AUG.  161 

other.  In  half  a  minute  more,  the  strap  was  made 
fast  round  the  ash  trunk.  Then  Dr.  Harriman  re 
lieved  Rill  again,  and  bade  her  retreat.  For  him 
self,  he  gave  the  dog  one  strong  fling  off,  and 
stepped  easily  to  Rill's  side. 

"  Come  back  into  the  shade  and  rest,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"MAY   I   TELL    YOU    SOMETHING?" 

A  RESCUE,  a  defense,  anything  like  this  is  a  most 
useful  element  in  the  resources  of  fiction  ;  and  the 
reason  is,  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  powerfully  oper 
ating  circumstances  in  the  drawing  of  any  two  hu 
man  natures  and  lives  together,  in  love  or  friend 
ship.  To  owe  something  of  the  life,  to  have  been 
a  protection  or  a  saving  to  it,  this,  on  either  part, 
is  a  magnetism  developed  by  the  act  and  service  in 
its  two  quick,  mutually  urgent,  relativities.  The 
power  and  bestowal ;  the  grateful,  glad  reception, 
these  are  positive  and  negative  to  each  other  at 
once. 

It  was  with  a  new  personal  consciousness  and 
recognition  that  Dr.  Harriman  and  Rill  walked 
back  together  into  the  beautiful  seclusion  of  the 
pines,  and  seated  themselves  under  the  grand  old 
far-spreading  oak.  It  was  a  new  vitalizing  point 
in  their  acquaintance  with  each  other,  from  wrhieh 
might  spring  and  unfold  for  them  a  quite  new 
course  of  sentiment  and  event. 


"MAY  I  TELL   YOU  SOMETHING?"         163 

Kill  was  feeling  this,  in  an  unwonted,  restful 
confidence  and  a  happy  admiration  that  it  was  sat 
isfying  to  her  nature  to  be  able  to  render,  for  full 
cause,  to  her  companion.  Without  analysis  or 
question  she  could,  just  now,  be  glad  to  think  so 
honoringly  of  Dr.  Harriman,  so  peacefully  of  her 
self  as  in  a  sure,  brave,  generous  care. 

Dr.  Harriman  was  considering  the  new  position, 
not  without  a  pure,  manly  pleasure,  but  as  vantage 
and  opportunity  also,  which  he  was  not  quite  de 
termined  how  far  to  use.  He  was  finding  himself 
to  be  just  a  little  too  much,  perhaps,  in  earnest. 
He  had  not  meant  to  be  in  earnest  quite  so  soon. 

With  the  two,  therefore,  there  was  this  present 
difference :  the  one  was  moved,  surprised  with  a 
strange  experience,  off  her  guard  ;  the  other  was 
moved  also,  but  coolly  critical  of  his  emotions,  and 
carefully  self-possessed. 

"  How  came  you  to  be  here  ?  "  Rill  asked,  in  her 
direct  fashion,  as  she  regained  breath  and  quiet 
ness,  and,  with  the  impulse  to  say  something, 
shrank  somehow  from  words  of  thanks.  She  did 
not  keep  back  tones,  however ;  they  were  in  her 
question,  they  thrilled  it  with  the  quick,  warm  ac 
knowledgment  of  what  it  had  been  to  her  that  he 
was  here. 

"  As  you  came  to  be,  I  think,  Miss  Rill.  It  was 
still  and  sweet  down  here,  and  I  was  drawn." 


164  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  was  driven,"  said  Rill,  concisely. 

"Between  two  forces  one  cannot  always  distin 
guish  which  chiefly,  or  most  directly,  moves,"  said 
Dr.  Harriman.  "  But  it  is  a  human  instinct  to 
invade  a  peace  or  pleasantness.  I  wonder  why  we 
can  hardly  ever  make  ourselves  one  with  it.  Our 
restlessness  breaks  up  the  very  calm  that  it  wanted. 
We  cannot  get  into  a  solitude  after  all." 

"  One  human  being  is  a  population  anywhere," 
assented  Kill  Raye.  "  He  can't  leave  his  world  be 
hind  him.  Perhaps  all  we  can  do  is  to  get  now 
and  then  into  a  place  where  other  people's  worlds 
won't  crowd  ours.  And  yet,  it  seems  as  if  in  some 
places  our  own  might  stop  crowding.  I  suppose 
that  is  the  real  why  of  the  instinct." 

"  We  make  pictures,  and  try  to  get  into  them," 
said  Dr.  Harriman.  "  That  is  human  life." 

Rill  said  nothing. 

"When  I  was  a  boy,"  Dr.  Harriman  began 
again,  "  I  cried  uproariously  one  day  till  I  half 
distracted  my  mother,  like  Whimpy  in  the  song, 
because  I  could  n't  get  into  a  picture.  '  I  will  be 
a  boy  in  a  picture ! '  I  declared.  My  mother  said 
quietly,  '  You  are  a  boy  in  a  picture  ; '  and  she 
brought  a  looking-glass  and  held  it  up  before  me. 
She  did  not  even  ask  me  if  I  liked  the  boy  in  the 
picture.  She  knew  where  to  stop,  if  I  did  n't." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  asked  Rill. 


"  MAY  I  TELL   YOU  SOMETHING?"         165 

"  I  kicked  the  looking-glass,  but  I  never  kicked 
that  boy  out  of  it.  I  've  remembered  him  ever 
since  ;  and  it  has  kept  me  from  some  impetuous 
unreasonableness,  I  think.  I  may  see  the  pictures 
and  want  to  be  in  them;  but  I  do  not  kick  nor 
scream,  and  I  try  not  to  be  in  a  hurry.  I  shall 
get  there  some  time,  may  be  ;  I  mean  to  ;  but  mean 
while,  it  's  a  shifting  world,  Miss  Raye  ;  there  are 
dissolving  views  !  " 

Rill's  eyes  looked  intelligent ;  there  was  a  little 
mischief  in  them. 

"  Meanwhile,  one  practices  tableaux,  perhaps  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Possibly ;  one  may  posture  a  little ;  it  is  in 
structive.  But  don't  you  see  how  fictitious  all  that 
is  ?  One  waits  for  the  reality." 

"Ah!" 

"What  was  that  little  hard  breath  for,  Miss 
Raye  ?  " 

"  For  the  Lady  of  Shalott.  Her  mirror  cracked 
from  side  to  side,  you  know ;  and  all  because  Sir 
Lancelot  rode  by  —  in  a  picture." 

"  Could  Sir  Lancelot  help  that,  when  he  was  on 
his  way  to  Camelot  ?  " 

"  May  be  not.  Camelot  was  to  blame,  I  sup 
pose.  It  was  Camelot  she  was  forbidden.  There 
are  a  great  many  Camelots,"  said  the  young  girl, 
gravely. 


166  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  "  —  began  Dr.  Harri- 
man,  impulsively.  lie  had  risen  and  stood  over 
her  now,  looking  down  at  her  with  an  earnestness 
whi^h  perhaps  it  was  as  well  she  did  not  at  the 
moment  see. 

She  was  apparently  intent  upon  a  cluster  of  little 
wood  blossoms  that  grew  in  a  tuft  at  her  side.  She 
passed  her  finger  up  their  stems,  that  rose  so  dain 
tily  out  from  their  rich,  low  leafage.  There  was  a 
curious  tenderness  in  her  touch  as  it  stroked  the 
delicate  petals  upward.  It  was  as  if  she  felt  with 
them  somewhat  of  their  lowly,  hidden,  unsought 
life. 

Dr.  Harriman  interrupted  himself,  noting  the 
action  which,  perhaps,  afforded  him  a  timely  relief 
from  an  imprudence  he  was  nearly  uttering. 

"  You  do  not  gather  the  flowers,  Miss  Rill  ?  "  he 
said,  with  an  inflection  as  if  he  asked  her  why. 

"  No.  I  have  n't  that  propensity.  I  think  it  is 
the  same  which  makes  men  shoot  birds.  I  like 
live  flowers  —  growing.  I  don't  care  for  corpses 
of  flowers."  Her  eyes  flashed  upward  at  him  as 
she  spoke.  It  was  one  of  her  quaint,  queer  speeches 
which,  nevertheless,  she  meant,  while  she  smiled  at 
her  own  queerness  that  often  seemed  to  surprise 
herself  when  she  had  uttered  it. 

There  was  something  irresistible  in  her ;  in  her 
originality,  her  genuineness ;  the  sparkling  up  of 


"MAY  I  TELL   YOU  SOMETHING?"         167 

the  life  in  her,  like  the  rush  and  shine  of  a  clear 
water-spring.  It  was  a  nature  to  study  with  de 
light.  To  have  a  claim  to  study  it,  to  sympathize 
with  it  —  this  suddenly,  and  not  for  the  first  time, 
drew  Dr.  Harriman  with  a  keen  desire. 

He  sat  down  again,  a  little  way  off,  opposite 
her,  upon  an  old  fallen  log.  His  feet  rested  in  a 
bed  of  wintergreen.  He  pulled  a  stem  of  it,  and 
rubbed  the  fragrant  leaves  in  his  fingers ;  his  arms 
resting  upon  his  knees  as  he  bent  forward,  his 
head  down  a  little  in  a  pause  of  thoughtfulness. 

"  May  I  tell  you  something  of  my  life  ? "  he 
asked  Rill  Raye. 

Rill  Raye  herself  was  being  drawn  ;  in  spite  of 
a  strange  feeling  that  it  was  not  a  true  drawing, 
that  it  was  only  of  the  moment,  she  was  yielding 
to  a  new  sense  of  liking  for  this  man,  who  was 
showing  himself  to  her  in  new  lights.  She  was 
stirred ;  she  was  a  little  frightened.  What  could 
he  be  going  to  say,  and  why  did  he  want  to  say  it? 
Did  she  really  want  to  hear  ?  She  was  not  sure  ; 
yet  she  could  not  speak  the  word  to  stop  him. 

So,  with  her  silence  for  assent,  Dr.  Harriman  be 
gan  and  told  her  the  tilings  of  which  we  already 
know.  Of  what  the  motive  had  been  thus  far  in 
his  life,  and  what  it  must  be  for  a  while  longer ;  of 
his  duties,  that  he  did  not  mean  selfishly  to  set 
aside ;  of  hopes  that  a  man  must  have,  which  he 


168  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

had  not  been  free  to  indulge.  He  acknowledged 
that,  with  these  hindrances,  he  had  been  wrong, 
perhaps,  in  things  that  she  had  noticed  and  had 
bravely  charged  him  with.  He  thanked  her  for  her 
true  speaking ;  it  made  an  opportunity  for  him  to 
speak  frankly  in  return,  and  he  wished  very  much 
that  she  should  understand  him. 

"  I  cannot  bear,"  he  said,  "  that  you  should  think 
me  a  mere  flirt.  That  is  such  an  odious  name  for 
a  man.  It  has  in  it  a  woman's  foolish  vanity,  and 
a  man's  culpable  deceit.  I  am  not  a  flirt,  Miss 
Raye.  I  may  have  trifled,  when  trifling  was  all 
that  was  expected,  or  returned  ;  one  does  feel  the 
difference,  Miss  Rill ;  but  when  I  am  in  earnest,  it 
will  be  —  if  I  can  make  her  listen  —  with  a  woman 
who  will  not  flirt." 

I  do  not  think  Dr.  Ilarriman  deliberately  bor 
rowed  his  phrase  from  Putnam  King.  It  had 
struck  him  at  the  time,  and  it  came  to  him  now  as 
the  natural  word  for  his  own  meaning.  We  say  a 
good  many  things  so,  perhaps  even  without  recol 
lecting  ;  there  is  a  good  deal  of  verbal  plagiarism. 
Indeed,  it  makes  language ;  out  of  it  proverbs 
grow  ;  we  do  not  know  where  they  first  came  from. 
But  Dr.  Harriman  colored  a  little,  remembering, 
as  the  words  came  to  his  lips,  how  they  had  been 
said  to  him. 

Rill  Raye  had  lifted  up  her  head  and  was  look- 


"MAY  I   TELL   YOU  SOMETHING?"        169 

ing  at  him  with  full,  clear  eyes.  They  were  eyes 
that  saw  beyond  the  surface,  as  they  were  them 
selves  not  surface  eyes,  but  took  their  color  and 
their  gleam  from  depth.  Her  look  was  of  a  listen 
ing  that  sounded  down  beneath  his  word.  It  found 
something  there  which  he  had  not  meant  to  ex 
press  —  to  the  ear,  at  any  rate.  It  was  not  of  the 
ear's  hearing.  A  color  came  into  the  girl's  face 
too  ;  not  of  embarrassment,  or  shy  feeling,  or  any 
timid  consciousness  such  as  he  might  have  been 
pleased  to  see  there,  and  half  dismayed  to  have  so 
soon  evoked  with  but  his  half  intent.  It  was  a 
rising  of  some  womanly  resentment  that  waited, 
not  quite  certain  of  offense. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  are  quite  frank  with  me, 
even  yet,  Dr.  Harriman,"  she  said,  with  the  direct 
ness  that  was  in  her  eyes.  "  I  do  not  quite  know 
why  you  say  —  why  you  need  to  say  —  these  things 
to  me  at  all." 

A  coquettish  woman  —  leading  him  on  —  might 
have  spoken  these  very  words  ;  but  not  as  Rill 
Raye  spoke  them.  There  was  a  demand  in  them  ; 
there  was  a  rebuke,  if  he  deserved  it.  If  he  had 
known  all  that  was  moving  her  to  say  them,  he 
might  not  have  been  disconcerted  as  he  was.  But 
how  could  he  suspect  that  this  Rill  Raye,  who  had 
learned  of  things  that  made  her  look  back  with  an 
honest  self-scorn  upon  her  own  little  sillinesses  and 


170  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

mistakes  of  awhile  ago,  was  not  even  sure  that  he 
did  not  mean  what  would  include  herself  among 
such  girls  as  had  been  willing  to  trifle  and  put 
themselves  in  the  way  of  being  trifled  with,  —  girls 
from  whom  he  would  never  choose  the  woman  he 
should  come  to  in  manly  earnest  ?  How  could  he 
guess  that  through  her  mind  was  rushing  at  this  in 
stant  the  swift  suspicion  of  his  having  heard  the 
miserable  word  of  gossip  that  had  come  round  to 
her,  —  that  she  might  choose  between  two  men, 
neither  of  whom  had  given  her  the  least  sign  ? 
"  Does  he  suppose  I  thought  so,  —  that  perhaps 
I  said  so  ?  "  she  was  wondering,  with  a  pang  of 
wrath  and  shame,  kept  down  only  by  the  strong  de 
termination  to  make  certain  before  she  would  give 
way  to  it.  Why  had  he  come  near  her  at  all  with 
his  friendliness,  as  he  unquestionably  had  done 
lately  more  and  more,  if  this  were  what  he  could 
think  of  her  ? 

He  had  treated  her  as  if  he  had  learned  respect 
for  her ;  as  if  he  cared  for  her  opinion.  For  this 
very  reason,  would  he  be  so  bitterly  honest  with 
her  as  this  ?  Honest  ?  No ;  he  was  not  abso 
lutely  honest,  as  she  said  to  him.  Was  he  just 
kind  enough  to  let  her  know,  for  her  own  sake, 
how  he  stood,  while  veiling  his  explanation  with 
the  pretense  of  seeking  to  make  her  understand 
what  he  had  not  intended  elsewhere  ? 


"MAY  I  TELL   YOU  SOMETHING?"         171 

She  waited,  to  be  sure  of  this  ;  an  instant  more, 
and  the  startled  flush  would  be  a  scorch  of  indig 
nation.  He  had  no  right ;  she  had  done  nothing 
to  give  him  right  or  provocation.  She  might  scorn 
herself ;  but  he  need  not  scorn  her.  She  looked 
at  him  with  that  steady,  searching  demand  in  her 
face. 

He  lost  his  presence  of  mind  before  it ;  he  was 
self-convicted  of  his  own  unworthy  half -dealing. 
He  spoke  as  a  man  who  must  say  something,  but 
who  is  not  ready  with  the  thing  to  say,  and  blurts 
forth  that  which  he  would  not  have  said  at  all. 

"  Because,  Miss  Raye  —  because  —  I  wanted  you 
to  know  my  position.  To  understand  —  that  there 
might  be  other  things  —  different  things  —  that  I 
could  not  say." 

Then  the  eyes  flashed,  and  the  color  deepened. 
She  looked  as  she  had  looked  that  day  when  she 
had  demanded  and  borne  a  pain  that  might  buy 
back  her  dignity. 

"  Since  you  thought  it  necessary  —  since  you 
were  under  such  a  mistake,  Dr.  Harriman,"  she 
said,  slowly,  "  I  am  glad  you  did  it.  I  am  able  to 
answer  you.  It  was  not  necessary  at  all ;  and  be 
ing  unnecessary,  it  was  "  — 

There  she  stopped.  He  had  just  done  her  a  ser 
vice  ;  she  would  not  tell  him  that  he  had  offered 
her  an  impertinence.  She  must  endure  her  obliga- 


172  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

tion  to  him  ;  she  must  thank  him  for  that,  at  least. 
Her  anger  took  a  touch  of  gentler  pain.  She  had 
begun  really  to  like  him  —  to  be  glad  of  his  esteem. 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet.  This  compelled  him 
to  rise  also.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  "  I 
owe  you  for  a  great  service,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not 
forget  that.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  the  same 
meddling  story  that  I  have ;  perhaps  you  thought 
I  believed  it.  I  dare  say  you  only  meant  to  be 
kind,  but  you  have  been  altogether  mistaken,  and 
you  have  offended  me  ;  if  I  were  not  offended, 
I  should  deserve  it  all.  Good-by !  "  She  turned 
round,  away  from  him,  and  walked  down  the  little 
foot-track  among  the  leaves. 

"Miss  Raye !  Where  are  you  going?  Do  not 
leave  me  like  this !  Forgive  me  !  I  did  not  mean 
one  word  of  what  you  think  !  " 

He  followed  her ;  she  paused  and  looked  back 
at  him. 

"  Please,  Dr.  Harriman,  let  me  go,"  she  said. 
"  We  have  been  long  enough  away  from  the 
others.  I  wish  you  would  go  back  to  them.  I  do 
not  mean  to ;  I  am  tired.  They  will  let  me  rest 
there  at  the  farmhouse ;  then  I  shall  go  home. 
Perhaps  you  will  find  my  aunt  for  me  and  tell 
her." 

She  gave  him  thus  much  of  forgiveness  —  that 
he  might  do  her  this  little  service  more.  She 


"MAY  I  TELL    YOU  SOMETHING?"         173 

walked  on  ;  it  was  impossible  that  lie  should  persist, 
and  dog  her  steps.  He  lifted  his  hat  with  some 
word  of  strong-  regret,  and  of  "  another  time  ;  " 
then  he  took  his  way  as  she  had  bidden  him,  a 
man  with  a  quite  new  experience  in  his  life. 

How  would  she  get  home  ?  He  had  not  asked 
her  this ;  in  the  face  of  her  simple  determination 
it  had  not  occurred  to  him  any  more  than  if  she 
had  been  a  creature  with  wings.  It  occurred  to 
him  now  ;  but  he  dared  not  go  back  to  her.  He 
might  —  if  he  had  not  been  a  fool  —  have  driven 
her  home  himself.  His  horse  and  phaeton  were  at 
the  farmhouse  stables.  He  might  have  had  that 
lovely  ride  with  her,  back  through  the  long  pine 
woods.  He  might  have  said  something  very  dif 
ferent  from  the  thing  he  had  said.  She  was  a 
woman  worth  waiting  for ;  a  woman  who  would 
have  known  how  to  wait,  if  it  had  been  with,  not 
for,  a  man. 

One  of  those  stupidities  in  life  had  happened 
by  which  the  whole  current  of  events  had  been 
changed,  and  to  his  bitter  loss.  Could  he  ever, 
by  any  happier  chance,  retrieve  it?  Could  he? 
Pie  would.  He  would  not  question,  he  would  make 
chance  ;  he  would  redeem  himself ;  he  would  marry 
Rill  Raye  yet. 

No  sooner  had  he  disappeared  among  the  trees, 
and  Rill,  with  furtive  glances,  had  made  sure  of  it, 


174  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

than  she  sat  down  again  upon  the  nearest  resting- 
place,  a  stone  at  the  wood-edge.  She  was  in  need 
of  at  least  a  momentary  repose,  and  the  need 
asserted  itself  suddenly.  She  was  pale  and  ex 
hausted,  almost  faint,  as  the  tension  of  her  spirit 
relaxed.  What  she  would  have  liked  was  a  good 
cry ;  but  she  dared  not  take  it  here  ;  and  a  cry 
can  wait,  though  at  some  expense  of  nerve.  A 
little  way  off,  the  dog  still  tugged  at  his  strong 
fastening,  and  barked  and  growled.  This  did  not 
help  to  calm  her,  though  she  knew  he  could  not 
get  away.  Why  did  not  the  farm  people  hear 
him,  and  come  ?  She  began  to  pity  the  poor  crea 
ture.  Things  were  hard  in  this  world  for  all  sorts 
of  struggling,  halfway  natures. 

An  easy-rolling  carriage  came  along  over  the 
turf  and  the  pine  needles  of  the  roadway.  Mrs. 
Rextell's  pretty  victoria,  with  herself  and  Mrs. 
Sholto  for  occupants.  Rill  stood  up  as  it  ap 
proached.  Mrs.  Rextell  leaned  forward  to  the 
coachman  with  a  word,  and  the  carriage  stopped. 

"  My  dear !  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  lady.  "  You 
are  alone  ;  you  look  pale  ;  has  anything  hap 
pened  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  frightened  by  the  dog  ;  Dr.  Ilar- 
riuian  came  and  helped  me,  and  tied  him  to  the 
tree.  I  am  going  to  the  farmhouse  to  tell  them  ; 
then  I  shall  go  home." 


I  TELL   YOU  SOMETHING?"         175 

"  But  how  ?  —  excuse  me." 

"  I  don't  know.  Somebody  will  take  me,  I  sup 
pose."  And  then,  —  to  the  remaining  question  in 
Mrs.  Rextell's  eyes  which  took  a  shade  of  sur 
prise,  —  "  aunt  Amelia  will  know.  Dr.  Ilarriman 
has  gone  to  tell  her,"  she  said,  simply. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Rextell,  quickly,  "you 
are  not  fit  to  stand  to  say  another  word.  I  will 
tell  you  what  to  do.  Keep  on  to  the  farmhouse, 
and  wait  there ;  I  am  only  going  to  the  grounds 
for  a  few  minutes,  to  speak  to  one  or  two  people, 
and  leave  Mrs.  Sholto.  I  will  see  Miss  Bonable 
myself.  Then  I  will  come  back  for  you,  and  we 
will  drive  home  together.  Shall  we  ?  " 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Rill.  "I  shall  be 
glad." 

Mrs.  Rextell's  face  lighted  with  approving  satis 
faction.  The  girl  had  not  hesitated.  "  Drive  on, 
Sand  is,"  she  ordered,  and  nodded  with  a  smile  to 
Cyrilla,  to  leave  whom  at  once  was  now  the  greater 
kindness.  "  Look  for  Miss  Bonable  as  you  come 
up  to  the  party,  and  bring  me  as  near  to  her  as 
you  can,"  she  added  to  her  servant.  "  I  will  re 
lieve  Dr.  Ilarriman  of  the  remainder  of  this  busi 
ness,"  she  thought  to  herself  as  she  settled  back 
against  the  cushions. 

The  ladies  overtook  Dr.  Harriman  on  the  way, 
and  passed  him  with  a  polite  exchange  of  bows. 


176  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Miss  Bonable  was  quickly  found,  and  Mrs.  Rex- 
tell  and  her  friend  alighted.  As  they  crossed  the 
few  steps  from  the  roadway  into  the  little  glade 
between  rocks  and  trees  where  the  supper  party 
still  lingered,  a  new  thought  came  to  Mrs.  Rextell. 
"  Shall  you  have  a  spare  seat  ?  "  she  asked  Mrs. 
Sholto.  "  How  is  Colonel  Sholto  coming  ?  " 

"  In  the  landau.     Oh,  yes  ;  Jack  will  ride  !  " 

Dr.  Harriman  came  up  from  a  cross  path  in 
time  to  see  Miss  Bonable  seated  in  the  Rextell  vic 
toria,  and  turning  out  upon  the  drive.  Mrs.  Rex- 
tell  met  him.  "  I  saw  Miss  Raye,"  she  told  him, 
"  as  I  came  in.  I  have  sent  Miss  Bonable  to  her. 
What  was  the  matter  with  the  dog  ?  " 

She  spoke  in  very  friendly  fashion.  Dr.  Harri 
man  answered  her  categorically.  "  Thank  you ; 
that  was  the  best  thing,"  he  said.  "  There  was 
nothing  really  the  matter ;  the  dog  was  frolicsome 
and  rude ;  he  frightened  a  little  girl ;  Miss  Raye 
went  to  the  rescue,  and  she  had  her  hands  full.  It 
did  become  a  little  serious  at  last ;  those  Irish  set 
ters  are  uncertain,  and  the  fellow  had  his  temper 
up." 

"  And  you  came  along  just  in  time  ?  "  the  lady 
queried,  pleasantly.  If  there  were  any  meaning 
in  her  question  it  did  not  appear,  either  on  her 
side,  or  in  his  reception  of  it. 

"  None   too   soon  for  Miss    Rave's    strength,   I 


"MAY  I  TELL   YOU  SOMETHING?"         177 

think,"  he  answered ;  and  lifting  his  hat  toward 
his  head  with  a  deference,  he  replaced  it,  and 
moved  from  her  as  Mrs.  Sholto  rejoined  her  friend. 

There  was  a  subdued  gravity  about  the  gentle 
man  which  impressed  Mrs.  Rextell.  "  Something 
has  happened,"  she  said  to  herself,  while  she  spoke 
a  few  quite  other  words  to  Mrs.  Sholto.  "  I  don't 
believe  he  was  frightened.  I  wonder  if  Rill  Raye 
can  have  refused  him  !  " 

The  victoria  came  round  to  the  farmhouse  door, 
with  Miss  Bon  able  very  upright  in  it,  as  if  at  once 
careful  of  undue  freedom  with  a  borrowed  splendor, 
and  none  the  less  entirely  equal  to  the  occasion. 

Rill  came  out,  surprised. 

"  Well,  are  you  ready  to  go  home  ?  "  Miss  Bona- 
ble  inquired,  with  a  manner  of  course.  Rill  replied 
by  entering  the  low  vehicle.  "  All  right,"  said 
Miss  Bonable  to  the  inflexible  Sandis,  who  sat  like 
a  statue,  or  a  cataleptic.  "  I  don't  suppose  he 
would  turn  round,  if  we  were  both  to  tumble  out 
behind,"  aunt  Amelia  remarked,  in  a  tone  with 
drawn  to  the  interior.  This  was  a  graciousness,  as 
taking  Rill  into  some  sympathy  and  companion 
ship.  The  girl  had  expected  either  silence  or  stern 
catechising. 

But  aunt  Amelia  did  not  catechise.  For  one 
reason,  Sandis  was  trained  to  hear  with  the  back 
of  his  ears.  They  rolled  smoothly  along  through 


178  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

the  deep,  fragrant  pine  wood  shadow,  out  upon  the 
North  Road,  and  round  to  Brook  Lane  and  the 
cottage. 

Miss  Bonable  told  Sandis  that  she  was  very 
much  obliged.  She  might  as  well  have  told  the 
Sphinx.  His  impassive  eyes  were  upon  his  horse's 
ears,  his  profile  was  a  fixed,  stately  line  ;  he  made 
some  mysterious,  magnetic  sign,  without  sound  or 
apparent  motion,  and  the  victoria  rolled  away. 

Perhaps  the  vexation  of  her  superfluous  thanks 
was  in  the  single  sentence  which  she  addressed  to 
Rill  as  they  went  upstairs. 

"  You  have  a  faculty  for  getting  into  scrapes  ; 
and  for  everybody  knowing  it,"  she  said.  "  I  won 
der  what  will  happen  next !  " 

But  there  was  no  scathe  nor  scorn  in  her  tone. 
Whatever  her  words  were,  this  was  gentleness  for 
Miss  Bonable.  It  had  not  been  altogether  a  scrape, 
since  Mrs.  Rextell  had  lent  her  countenance  —  and 
her  carriage  —  to  the  emergency.  Miss  Bonable 
might  not  submit  to  hash  parties,  but  she  valued 
private  and  individual  attentions. 

There  was  more  than  this  in  her  forbearance, 
however.  She  had  not  found  it  to  be  of  much  use 
to  scold  or  accuse  Cyrilla,  and  she  had  learned, 
through  Miss  Haven's  sympathetic  influence,  some 
wiser  reliefs. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  THAT  'S    WHAT    I  ?M    A    SPINSTER   FOR." 

THE  next  day  Miss  Bonable  was  restless.  She 
would  like  to  see  Miss  Haven.  But  that  lady  not 
being  at  home,  she  called,  on  her  way  from  the 
Point,  to  see  cousin  Sarah.  She  not  only  felt 
that  she  must  speak  to  somebody  herself,  but  she 
foresaw  there  would  be  "  talk  "  about  this  matter, 
as  about  all  matters,  in  Wewachet ;  and  she  had 
found  out  both  the  prairie  strategy  of  setting  a 
fire  before  a  fire,  and  the  best  place  to  do  it  in. 
So  she  came  into  the  southwest  room  with  her  light 
parcels  of  niceties  from  the  grocer,  and  her  pur 
chases  from  Scrimple.  She  laid  them  down  beside 
her  on  the  sofa,  and  unrolled  her  little  home  packet, 
the  story  of  the  day  before. 

"  It  would  n't  have  happened  to  anybody  but 
Rill  Raye  !  "  she  ended,  impatiently. 

"  I  think 's  likely 's  not,"  returned  Miss  Crooke, 
calmly.  "  The'  ain't  many  like  Rill,  Miss  Bona 
ble.  I  hope  you  're  proud  of  her." 

"  I  know  you  stand  her  friend  ;  and  that 's  why 


180  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

I  speak  about  it.  But  I  don't  see  why  she  was 
down  there  anyway." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  expect  to  see  everything, 
specially  things  that  ain't  there,"  said  Miss  Crooke. 
Her  sharp  sententiousness  was  a  comfort  to  Miss 
Bonable,  whether  meant  to  be  or  not.  She  went 
on  with  her  grievance,  perhaps  to  get  more  com 
fort. 

"  There  '11  be  a  buzz  about  it.  They  '11  say  it 
was  a  contrivance  to  meet  Dr.  Harriman." 

"  Or  the  dog,"  put  in  Miss  Sarah. 

Miss  Bonable  could  not  resist  a  smile.  It  was 
a  pity  she  ever  could.  When  she  showed  her 
beautiful,  even  teeth,  set  in  their  peculiar,  delicate 
oval,  and  her  eyes  relaxed  their  searchingness  and 
let  the  light  through  them,  she  was  for  the  moment 
a  fair,  sweet-faced  woman,  —  the  woman  she  had 
been  before  eye  and  lip  grew  hard. 

"  She  '11  get  talked  of  again,  that 's  all ;  it 's  her 
way,  and  her  luck,"  she  said. 

"  There 's  more  'n  one  way  of  talkin',"  said 
Sarah  Crooke,  "  and  the  more  's  really  known 
about  some  folks,  the  better.  But  don't  you  talk, 
—  don't  you  buzz,  Amelia  Bonable  !  I  'm  pleased 
you  've  come  to  me  with  it ;  but  you  just  drop  it 
right  here,  and  leave  it,  —  will  you  ?  " 

Miss  Amelia's  eyes  opened  wide.  "I  —  talk ! 
about  Cyrilla !  " 


"THAT'S  WHAT  I 'If  A  SPINSTER  FOB."    181 

"•  Yes,  you.  You  don't  do  it  abroad  ;  it  's  new 
for  you  to  come  here  ;  but  you  talk  at  home  —  to 
her  —  and  to  yourself.  That  's  where  it  begins. 
That  's  what  puts  things  in  the  air.  If  they  're  in 
the  closet,  they  're  out  on  the  housetop.  That  's 
Scripture,  and  its  experience.  If  you  don't  want 
a  thing  to  circulate,  don't  turn  it  round  in  your 
own  mind.  It  's  like  a  tornado  ;  if  it  once  gets 
a-whirlin',  it  '11  start  off.  What  worries  and  twists 
in  a  little  back  corner  of  your  own  thoughts,  is 
down-street  making  a  dust  before  you  know  it. 
It 's  the  rule  of  things.  What  you  would  n't  like 
other  folks  to  mistrust,  don't  you  mistrust." 

Miss  Bonable  went  home  with  a  fresh  kink  in 
her  philosophy. 

Miss  Haven  came  back,  a  few  days  later,  from 
Newport,  and  cousin  Sarah  told  her  all  about  it. 
"  I  declare,"  she  said,  "  that  woman  —  Amelia 
Bonable  —  makes  me  feel  feeble.  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  to  her.  She  ain't  bad  —  nor  bad- 
hearted  ;  but  she  endures  a  lot  of  trouble  before 
hand.  If  folks  will  set  on  misery's  eggs,  they 
need  n't  complain  when  something  hatches !  " 

Miss  Haven  laughed.  The  next  day  she  began 
her  little  rounds  again  in  Wewachet.  "  There  is 
always  something  to  fetch  and  to  carry,"  said  the 
barefaced  newsmonger. 

She  made  half  a  dozen  calls  ;  she  wanted  to  know 


182  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

everything  that  had  happened  while  she  had  been 
away.  She  gathered  and  distributed ;  she  went 
armed  and  equipped  from  one  house  to  the  next ; 
she  became  utterance  and  authority ;  she  mixed 
herself  with  what  she  heard,  and  characterized  it. 
The  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on,  and>  it 
was  generous  good-will  that  the  message  carried. 

All  was  of  interest ;  all  was  discussed :  from 
Edith  Pinceley's  new  gown,  that  she  "  suspected 
was  a  quiet  present  —  from  Mrs.  Sholto,  perhaps  ; 
Edith  was  a  good  deal  there  "  —  to  the  incidents 
and  adventures  at  Sbepaug  ;  Connie  Norris's  sauci- 
ness,  and  George  Craigan's  manly  facing  of  it  — 
"It  will  do  them  both  good,"  Miss  Haven  said; 
"  they  will  understand  each  other  yet ;  there  is  a 
fair  making  in  both  of  them"  — to  Rill  and  the 
little  farmhouse  girl,  the  fright  and  the  bravery, 
and  Mrs.  Rextell.  Dr.  Harriman  was  slipped 
back  into  a  second  place.  "  Oh,  yes,  he  helped 
Rill  tie  up  the  dog,"  was  all  he  got  of  comment  or 
applause. 

"  Mrs.  Rextell  is  growing  very  fond  of  Rill, 
I  think,  and  she  has  an  especially  great  respect 
for  Miss  Bonable.  It  is  nice  for  them  all.  You 
are  such  very  friendly  people  here,  Mrs.  Rospey," 
said  the  dear  Machiavel,  in  her  last  twilight  call. 

"  It  's  you  that  have  done  it.  It  's  a  neighbor 
hood  now  —  or  the  beginning  of  one  ;  and  it  never 


"THAT'S  WHAT  I'M  A  SPINSTER  FOR:1    183 

was  before  you  came.  You  've  spun  us  together, 
somehow." 

Elizabeth  Haven  did  not  contradict ;  she  knew 
it  was  true.  "That's  what  I  'tn  a  spinster  for," 
she  said,  lightly,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes ;  and  in 
her  heart  she  thanked  the  Lord. 

She  had  woven  her  sunshine  in  very  small 
threads  ;  she  was  content  to  drop  tiny,  patient 
dews  of  speech ;  only  once  in  a  while,  upon  occa 
sion,  she  came  down  here  or  there  with  some  full 
blaze  of  a  reserved  knowledge,  some  shower  of 
generous  surprise,  that  made  suddenly  a  spring 
day  and  a  greenness  of  new  blades  where  else 
might  have  been  a  lingering  of  frost  and  winter 
kill. 

One  autumn  day,  later  on,  she  was  sitting  with 
Mrs.  Rextell  in  her  little  conservatory  parlor.  A 
wide  window  looked  into  depths  of  firs  and  larches, 
up  and  down  whose  branching  slopes  ran  pretty 
cedar  birds.  A  glass  door  was  open  upon  sheltered 
loveliness  of  ferns  and  roses,  heliotropes  and  carna 
tions,  budding  lilies.  The  air  was  full  of  delicate 
fragrances,  with  sunbeams  filtering  softly  through. 
It  was  a  fit  place  for  two  sweet,  sunny-hearted 
woman  to  sit  and  talk  together. 

Mrs.  Sholto  had  just  gone  out. 

"  Is  n't  she  lovely  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Rextell,  coming 
back  to  her  chair  beside  Miss  Haven,  after  parting 


184  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

from  her  other  visitor  at  the  door.  "  Nobody  half 
knew  her  before  her  second  marriage.  How  should 
they,  when  hardly  half  of  her  had  chance  to  be 
alive?  How  strange  it  is,  this  taking  people  for 
granted  at  their  weak  exceptions  and  passing  dis 
advantages,  and  sending  them  on  labeled  with  the 
record  !  I  do  hate  talk  about  one's  neighbors. 
And  a  little  place  like  this  is  full  of  it." 

"  Not  half  so  full  as  it  ought  to  be.  People 
don't  tell  half  the  good  news.  If  they  only  knew 
what  they  are  doing  with  their  showing-up  and 
stigmatizing  the  wrong,  untrue  thing;  the  thing, 
may  be,  a  soul  is  going  to  the  Lord  with  in  sore 
trouble  !  It  is  making  spectacle  of  mortal  pain  !  " 

"  It  is  worse  ;  it  is  making  the  mortal  pain.  It  is 
vivisection,"  said  Mrs.  Rextell,  indignantly. 

By  unspoken  suggestion,  they  went  on  from  that 
—  these  two  so  little  lower  than  the  angels  —  with 
tender  mention's  that  were  healings,  or  inquiries 
that  sought  healings.  Presently,  their  speech  turned 
upon  Rill  Raye  and  Miss  Bonable.  No  ;  talk  does 
not  turn  itself ;  Miss  Haven  turned  it. 

"  Miss  Bonable  is  a  person  one  can  hardly  ever 
accomplish  an  intention  with,"  said  Mrs.  Rextell. 
"  It  is  a  pity ;  it  is  a  hindrance  to  Miss  Raye." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  so  hard  ?  " 

"  Yes,  usually ;  if  you  do  accomplish  anything, 
it  stands  by  itself.  You  cannot  begin  again  where 


"THAT'S  WHAT  I'M  A  SPINSTER  FOjR."    185 


you  left  off."  She  was  thinking  of  Shepaug,  and 
of  certain  little  failures  afterward  to  follow  up  her 
own  advance  there  ;  failures  due,  really,  to  Miss 
Bonable's  stern  determination  not  to  seem  to  ex 
pect  the  ell  from  the  inch.  "  She  is  exceedingly 
blunt,"  said  Mrs.  Eextell. 

"  Exceedingly,"  said  Miss  Haven.  "  Therefore, 
one  must  not  try  to  get  round  her  bluntness  with 
any  ordinary  —  or  extraordinary  —  suavity.  One 
must  go  very  straight  to  the  point,  facing  her  own 
honesty." 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  and  very  deep,  too.  She  is  not 
to  be  met  on  the  surface.  Maybe  I  should  have 
said  one  cannot  accomplish  with  her  an  attention. 
It  is  of  no  use  to  invite  her,  for  instance." 

'•  No  ;  not  as  a  matter  of  course.  She  says  she 
will  not  go  to  hash  parties.'1 

Mrs.  Rextell  laughed  merrily.  "  Is  that  what 
she  calls  my  neighborhood  entertainments  ?  It  's 
capital  !  I  never  should  have  had  the  wit  to  think 
of  it.  I  'in  sure  I  never  had  the  deliberate  mean 
ing  in  the  thing  ;  but  it  is  just  what  they  are  — 
and  everybody's  else  —  the  big,  general  ones.  I 
suppose  it  is  a  natural  variation  from  '  first  chop  !  ' 
I  never  thought  what  that  meant  before  !  " 

There  is  an  indescribable  delicate  touch  that  a 
high-bred  person  can  give  to  a  phrase  of  slang, 
just  glancing  at  it  with  piquant  quotation.  The 


186  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

words  fell  from  Mrs.  Rextell's  lips  with  a  grace  of 
dainty  strangeness. 

"  I  certainly  do  respect  Miss  Bonable,"  she  went 
on,  brightly.  "  I  always  thought  her  really  ex 
cellent,  but  with  odd,  rough  ways  that  rather  turn 
aside  approach,  you  know.  That  is  hard  for  her 
niece.  Miss  Raye  is  charming,  —  only,  just  a  little 
—  emphasized  ?  Some  people  seem  to  be  printed 
in  italics  ;  I  suppose  they  cannot  help  it  ;  but  one 
hardly  prefers  the  type  —  for  a  young  girl  ?  " 
Mrs.  Rextell  spoke  with  gentle  rising  inflections, 
putting  things  with  interrogation. 

"  May  be  not,  if  the  type  be  coarse,  or  an  ex 
aggeration.  But  a  uniform,  delicate  script,  only 
unusual  for  its  clearness  and  grace,  and  the  text 
something  worthy  a  special  setting?  "  Miss  Haven 
replied  with  similar  fine  query. 

"  That  is  what  you  think  ?  I  am  glad,  and  thank 
you.  But,  —  again,  —  is  n't  there  some  misreading 
there  —  on  both  sides,  perhaps  ?  Don't  they  — 
rather  —  put  each  other  in  a  bad  light  ?  I  wish,  — 
it  is  because  I  feel,  somehow,  interested  in  both, 
I  don't  know  why,  —  I  wish  I  could  understand." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  good  you  should  under 
stand,"  said  Miss  Haven  to  that,  with  a  sudden 
decision.  "I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story." 

And  then  the  golden  gossip  took  on  her  what 
only  a  golden  gossip  can,  who  discerns  with  heavenly 


•TIL-IT'S  WHAT  I'M  A   SPINSTER  FOR:'    187 

freemasonry  and  speaks  in  love.  In  ten  minutes 
more  Mrs.  Rextell  knew,  of  this  inner  human  his 
tory,  what  the  ministering  spirits  knew,  and  took  it 
into  the  same  pure  keeping. 

When  Miss  Haven  had  finished,  her  auditor  sat 
silent  a  moment,-  folding  it  away.  "  And  that," 
she  said,  presently,  with  a  tender  reverence  in  her 
voice,  "  is  " — 

"  That  is  Miss  Bonable,"  replied  Miss  Haven,  to 
her  pause.  "  She  is  stiff  and  gnarled,  perhaps,  but 
she  is  " — 

"  She  is  a  cedar  of  Lebanon,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Rextell. 

Miss  Haven  left  that  unanswered. 

Mrs.  Rextell  came  to  the  end  of  her  dark-olive 
wool,  and  searched  in  her  basket  for  some  soft 
canary.  "  And  the  girl  knows  nothing  of  all  this?" 
she  asked,  as  she  joined  on  the  beautiful  contrast. 

"Nothing;  further  than  that  she  'lost'  her 
mother  when  she  was  little,  and  that  her  father 
went  away  and  never  came  back  again,  and  so  she 
came  to  belong  to  aunt  Amelia." 

"  And  never  did  belong.  There  should  not  have 
been  so  much  hiding.  At  any  rate  she  is  old  enough 
now  to  know  more." 

"  But  how  could  Miss  Bonable  ever  tell  her  ? 
How  could  she  tell  her  enough  for  her  really  to 
understand  ?  The  two  things  that  were  the  signifi- 


188  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

cance  of  it  all  —  her  father's  fickleness  and  her 
mother's  shame  —  she  could  not  tell  her  those  !  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  not  all  at  once,  or  at 
the  first.  But  little  by  little,  as  came  natural,  as 
she  would  surely  ask.  Oh,  there  is  always  a  way 
to  tell  the  truth  ;  or  else  it  takes  a  way  to  tell  itself ! 
That  child  has  lived  in  the  dark,  Miss  Haven." 

"  It  is  a  reason  —  I  have  felt  so  —  why  we  should 
help  her  up  into  the  light." 

"  But  the  man  —  the  father ;  why  has  he  done 
nothing  at  his  end  ?  Why  has  he  been  content  ?  " 
Mrs.  Rextell  was  warmly  roused.  Her  beautiful 
eyes  shone ;  her  color  was  fervent ;  she  leaned 
toward  her  friend,  dropping  her  work,  a  confusion 
of  soft  brilliancy,  upon  her  lap. 

"  I  suppose  he  had  little  hope  for  the  child  of 
such  mothering ;  except  as  he  could  leave  her, 
without  interference,  to  the  different  one.  I  sup 
pose  he  was  discouraged,  disgusted,  at  first ;  then 
—  away  out  there,  and  busy  with  a  man's  work  — 
he  grew  indifferent,  and  forgot,  almost.  Men  do  ; 
they  are  not  like  women.  He  never  forgot  his  duty 
about  her,  it  seems,  however  ;  he  has  sent  money, 
year  by  year,  to  Miss  Bonable." 

"  More  than  her  mere  support,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  Miss  Bonable  says  he  has  '  done 
well  enough '  out  there.  She  has  taken  care  of 
whatever  came,  so  that  it  should  be  safe  for  Cyrilla 


"THAT'S  WHAT  I'M  A  SPINSTER  FOB."    189 

by  and  by.  It  has  not  been  used  for  her  sup 
port." 

"  And  Cyrilla  has  known  nothing  about  that, 
either,  I  dare  say." 

"  There  was  no  need  yet ;  Miss  Bonable  thought 
better  not.  She  gives  her  every  six  months  the 
rent  of  the  little  place  at  Maplefield,  which  Rill 
knows  she  owns.  That  makes  a  fair  allowance  for 
her,  and  affords  her  the  experience  of  taking  care 
of  money  ;  which  Miss  Bonable  says  a  girl  can 
learn  as  well  with  ten  dollars  as  with  a  hundred. 
'  If  you  can  hem  a  towel,  you  can  hem  a  sheet,'  she 
says." 

"  But  it  won't  be  fair  to  her,  very  long.  She 
ought  to  know  what  she  can  do  in  the  world. 
And  —  why,  it 's  keeping  her  out  of  all  her  birth 
rights,  Miss  Haven  !  She  has  a  right  to  her  father  ; 
to  her  child's  love  and  duty;  she  has  a  right  to  the 
debt  of  gratitude  and  honor  she  owes  her  aunt.  It 
ought  not  to  go  on  so !  " 

"  I  have  said  all  that  to  Miss  Bonable,  but  she 
puts  it  off.  '  What  would  come  of  it  ?  '  she  asks. 
She  could  not  send  Rill  over  to  that  other  end  of 
the  world  ;  and  she  could  not  ask  Rill's  father  to 
come  here.  I  suppose  those  two  have  been  sepa 
rately  and  tacitly  agreed  that  it  was  better  to  have 
the  half  circumference  of  the  earth  between  them." 

"  Is  the  other  woman  living  ?  " 


190  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  think  Miss  Bonable  hardly  knows.  There 
was  a  name  among  the  death  notices  in  a  paper 
once,  that  might  have  been  the  one  she  would  have 
called  herself  by ;  but  Miss  Bonable  never  learned 
anything  more.  Very  possibly  it  was  only  a  coin 
cidence.  What  inclines  me  to  think  that  Mr.  Raye 
may  have  kept  some  trace  of  her,  and  know  that 
she  is  still  living,  is  the  fact  that  he  does  not  come 
back." 

"  I  see ;  but  suppose  Miss  Bonable  should  die?  " 

"  She  has  provided  that  he  shall  know,  in  that 
case.  '  It  will  not  be  far  —  for  him  —  then,'  she 
said." 

"I  don't  believe  it  is  all  the  way  round,  with 
either  of  them,  now,"  said  imaginative  Mrs.  Rextell. 
"  There  are  straight  lines  that  tie  the  ends  of  the 
widest  arcs." 

"  Yes  ;  there  are  other  axes  than  the  one  from 
pole  to  pole.  Lives  turn  upon  many  such." 

"  And  Miss  Bonable  cannot  be  much  above  forty, 
now.  A  fresh,  fair  woman,  too  —  when  you  look 
at  her  in  the  light  that  belongs  to  her.  Well,  one 
cannot  meddle  with  that,  even  in  wishing.  But  the 
other  things  —  that  father  and  daughter  should  not 
know  each  other  all  these  years  ;  that  they  should 
be  suddenly  thrust  together  some  time,  perhaps,  not 
the  least  prepared  what  to  make  of  each  other  ; 
that  he  should  be  thinking  of  her  with  all  the  pos- 


"THAT'S  WHAT  /'Af  A  SPINSTER  FOE."    191 

sibility  in  her  of  that  other  parentage,  and  losing 
sight  of  her  as  his  own  child  ;  that  while  she  is  turn 
ing  out  —  who  knows  how,  with  such  repression  — 
he  should  not  know  her  real  sweetness  and  strength 
and  promise  —  and,  oh,  her  need  !  If  somebody 
could  only  write  to  him  and  tell  him  that,  Miss 
Haven  !  " 

"  I  have  written,"  said  Miss  Haven  quietly. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AUTUMN   ROSES. 

Miss  BONABLE' s  white  front  gate  swung  upon  its 
hinges,  and  Mrs.  Rextell  came  up  the  grass  walk. 
Miss  Bonable  saw  her  from  an  upper  window.  If 
the  lady  had  come  in  her  carriage,  I  doubt  if  she 
woTild  have  been  let  in.  In  her  morning  dress, 
with  a  shawl  and  parasol,  she  had  just  walked  over, 
not  like  a  caller,  but  like  a  neighbor.  Clementhy 
Pond  was  in  the  kitchen,  scalding  pickles  ;  Miss 
Bonable  came  down  the  front  stairs  and  unlatched 
the  blinds,  behind  which  the  door  stood  open. 
The  day  was  one  of  summer  warmth. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Rextell,  holding  out 
her  hand.  "  May  I  came  in  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,"  Miss  Bonable  answered,  mildly, 
with  civil  response  of  hand-greeting,  but  no  effusion. 
"But  Cyrilla  is  out." 

"  I  came  to  see  you,"  replied  her  visitor.  "  It  is 
early,  and  I  should  apologize.  But  I  wanted  to  be 
sure  to  find  you." 

Miss  Bonable  led  the  way  into  the  parlor,  and 


AUTUMN  ROSES.  193 

put  forward  a  comfortable  cushioned  chair,  seating 
herself  on  one  of  the  prim  old-fashioned  six  of  her 
original  furnishing.  She  waited  her  guest's  word, 
her  pleasure,  or  the  errand  of  her  visit,  not  offering 
any  initial  remark,  and  leaving  the  undeniable 
weather  to  its  own  demonstration.  Mrs.  Eextell 
had  come  for  something,  probably,  beyond  the  see 
ing  her  in  her  morning  gown,  which  was  of  homely 
brown  calico,  while  the  other  lady  wore  a  fabrica 
tion  of  soft  silk  and  wool,  as  plain  and  modest  as 
need  be,  yet  with  no  suggestion  of  any  coarse  or 
common  use. 

Mrs.  Rextell  met  the  composure  of  Miss  Bon- 
able's  silence  with  equal  composure  of  pleasant, 
ready  speech.  "  I  found  this  little  wild  rose  in  the 
lane,"  she  said,  holding  out  a  pink  blossom  with  a 
lovely  carmine  depth  at  the  heart,  against  which 
golden  stamens  rested.  "  See  how  bright  it  is,  and 
so  curiously  shaded.  One  does  not  look  for  roses 
and  autumn  leaves  together.  But  they  are  exqui 
site  in  contrast,"  and  she  laid  the  rose's  cheek 
against  the  glossy  bronze  of  a  bit  of  bramble. 

"  Colors  are  all  brighter  in  the  fall,"  said  Miss 
Bonable,  "  even  when  things  are  blooming  out  of 
season.  Wild  roses  are  queer  ;  they  come  most 
any  time,  in  some  places." 

"The  goldenrod  was  dazzling  all  along,"  said 
Mrs.  Rextell.  "  But  after  I  found  this,  I  thought 


194  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

I  would  go  home  with  only  my  one  little  wild  rose. 
Miss  Bonable,  I  want  to  get  you  to  come  and  see 
me.  I  would  like  you  to  bring  Miss  Raye  ;  but 
I  want  you  at  any  rate.  That  is  what  I  came  to 
say  this  morning.  Will  you  take  tea  with  me  on 
Thursday?" 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Rextell ;  I  don't  believe  I 
can,"  answered  Miss  Bonable,  bluntly. 

"  Mrs.  Sholto  and  Miss  Haven  will  be  there,  — 
only  those,"  persisted  Mrs.  Rextell,  sweetly.  She 
would  not  ask  Miss  Bonable  and  Rill  quite  by 
themselves ;  that,  again,  is  only  a  compliment 
where  intimacy  is  established.  You  can  take  any 
body  in,  on  special  basis  ;  that  is  as  indiscriminate 
as  a  hash  party.  But  one  or  two  —  to  meet  one  or 
two  —  chosen,  as  these  were  ;  this  was  what  ex 
pressed  precisely  Mrs.  Rextell's  intent. 

"  I  know  you  don't  like  large  companies ;  one 
never  really  sees  people  so  ;  they  are  only  what 
must  be  once  in  a  while,  as  we  have  thunderstorms, 
to  restore  equilibrium." 

Miss  Bonable  colored  up  with  sudden  conscious 
ness.  But  her  eyes  were  clear  and  steady  enough. 
"Did  Elizabeth  Haven  tell  you  that?"  she  de 
manded,  looking  full  in  her  interlocutor's  face. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Bonable  — what  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  she  did.  What  I  said  about  the 
hash  parties." 


AUTUMN  HOSES.  195 

Mrs.  Rextell  laughed  ;  that  sweet  ring  of  a  laugh 
that  was  peculiarly  hers.  "  You  were  quite  right. 
It  was  the  best  thing  anybody  has  said  for  ever  so 
long.  But  that  is  n't  why  I  want  you  now." 

"  Elizabeth  Haven  is  a  tattler." 

"  I  believe  she  is  ;  and  I  believe  we  both  like  her 
the  better  for  it.  Won't  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  'm  a  very  plain  person,  Mrs.  Rextell.  And 
I  'm  hard." 

"  You  are  hard  to  invite,  certainly."  She  was 
still  smiling;  her  look  was  both  amused  and  warm; 
she  was  longing  to  draw  to  herself  this  plain,  hard 
person,  in  whom  she  found  such  element  of  worth. 

"  I  'm  hard,  and  I  'in  rough  ;  I  'm  not  like  you  ; 
it 's  too  late  for  me  to  be  that  now,"  Miss  Bonable 
said.  "  I  might  have  been  —  if  things  had  begun 
at  the  beginning.  There  's  a  sweet  spot  in  me  ;  but 
I  've  had  to  shut  myself  up  over  it."  All  her  face 
had  softened,  quickly  ;  the  truth  of  the  moment 
got  spoken,  as  it  always  did  with  her ;  and  at  this 
moment  it  was  the  truth  she  hid  for  the  most  part 
even  from  herself.  Her  eyes  had  lost  their  sharp 
ness  ;  they  were  limpid  and  intent ;  her  lips  took 
that  gentle  curve  which  showed  their  shape  of 
youth  ;  the  white  arch  of  the  teeth  broke  from  be 
tween  them. 

Mrs.  Rextell  rose  from  her  seat,  and  came  over 
to  her.  "  Some  things  are  so  rich,  so  precious, 


196  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

that  they  need  putting  in  safe,  hard  cases,"  she 
said.  "  The  milk  in  the  nut  would  be  wasted,  but 
for  the  burr.  But,  when  the  time  comes,  the  burr 
opens,  my  dear  friend ;  and  we  gather  the  ripe 
sweetness."  She  put  out  both  her  hands,  now  ; 
the  little  wild  rose  in  one  of  them  fell  to  the  floor. 
"  You  will  come  and  take  tea  with  me  ?  "  she  re 
peated. 

"  It  is  you  that  will,  I  think.  Yes  ;  I  suppose  I 
must,  this  time."  But  the  two  hands  were  taken  ; 
and  a  thrill  came  through  them  from  the  sweet 
woman -heart  whence  they  were  stretched  out, 
that  found  and  touched  the  other  behind  its  life- 
shell. 

Mrs.  Rextell  was  gone ;  Miss  Bonable  stood 
alone  ;  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  suppose  I  've  been  a 
fool ;  I  am,  generally,  one  way  or  another.  I 
could  n't  seem  to  help  it,  though  ;  it  was  as  if  she 
must  know  everything." 

She  picked  up  the  wild  rose,  and  carried  it 
away  with  her  upstairs.  She  went  to  her  bureau 
drawers  ;  she  looked  up  some  fine  old  laces ;  she 
unwrapped  from  silver  paper  a  little  white  shawl, 
with  mystic  threads  stitched  into  it  upon  one  end  ; 
she  laid  these  things  together  upon  the  black  silk 
dress  folded  long  by  itself  below.  She  shut  the 
drawers,  and  went  downstairs,  with  a  smile  half 
pleasure,  half  amused  self -tolerance.  She  took  hold 


AUTUMN  ROSES.  197 

vigorously  with  Clementhy  Pond  upon  the  pickle- 
work;  she  did  up  a  lot  of  barberries  and  sweet 
apples ;  she  scalded  her  spiced-currant ;  the  two 
women  accomplished  a  vast  piece  of  housewifely 
business  that  day.  They  stood  for  hours  on  the 
cold  brick  buttery  floor,  wiping  shelves  and  jars, 
filling  and  ranging.  It  was  a  goodly  show. 

But  on  the  Wednesday  Miss  Bonable  was  in  her 
bed,  full  of  pain  and  fever.  It  was  the  beginning 
of  a  long  illness.  The  black  silk,  and  the  white 
camel's-hair,  and  the  old  lace,  lay  quietly  together 
for  weeks  and  weeks. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BREAKS    AND    JOINS. 

THINGS  hardly  ever  join  on,  after  an  interrup 
tion,  to  be  as  they  were  before  the  break.  You  go 
away  from  home  leaving-  matters  in  a  certain  rela 
tive  position  upon  which  you  calculate  for  contin 
uance  with  some  postponed  purpose.  You  come 
back  to  find  everything  cTiasseed  into  fresh  combi 
nation  ;  some  things  out  of  question  that  were  in 
important  bearing  before ;  some  old  hindrance  non 
existent,  may  be,  but  new  difficulty  and  obstacle  in 
the  way  ;  your  world  upheaved  and  tossed  about ; 
its  face  changed  by  a  circumstantial  earthquake. 
In  yourself,  even,  there  are  altered  conditions  ;  you 
need  a  pause  before  you  can  see  where  to  begin 
again  ;  perhaps  whether  you  may  begin  at  all. 

When  Putnam  King  returned  to  AVewachet, 
making  one  of  his  stops  there  which  had  always 
been  brief,  but  the  chain  of  whose  frequency  during 
the  past  summer  had  joined  them  with  a  practical 
continuousness,  he  came  into  some  such  altered  sur 
roundings,  and  with  a  very  considerable  difference 


BREAKS  AND  JOINS.  199 

of  opportunity.  His  time  was  really  limited,  now ; 
the  repetitions  of  his  comings  were  uncertain.  He 
was  expected  at  Huxtable  for  a  solid  family  visit, 
before  he  should  settle  down  to  the  grind  of  the 
law  office.  By  and  by  this  would  hold  him  close ; 
a  great  case  was  coming  on  this  winter,  involving 
the  looking  up  of  documents  and  records,  and 
obtaining  of  evidence  at  a  distance,  which  Mr. 
Arbicon  had  signified  he  should  depute  to  him. 
These  things  were  in  the  young  man's  mind ;  they 
would  prevent,  he  knew,  such  easy,  natural  follow 
ing  to  conclusion  of  his  interest  and  association 
here  as  had  seemed  possible  a  little  while  ago,  and 
would  force  the  alternative  of  long  delay  and  abey 
ance  or  very  direct  and  obvious  action. 

When  he  found  added  to  all  this  the  complete 
shifting  of  centres  in  the  little  neighborhood,  it  was 
as  if  he  had  been  blindfolded  and  turned  round 
three  times  in  the  old  game,  and  bidden  suddenly 
to  go  forward  again,  with  "  touch  whom  you  may !  " 

He  could  scarcely  touch  anybody.  Aunt  Eliza 
beth  was  off  half  her  time  at  the  cottage  on  the 
North  Road ;  Cyrilla  was  shut  up  there  with  Miss 
Bonable.  Miss  Bonable  had  become,  in  her  sick 
room,  the  focus  of  attention  and  regard.  Instead 
of  little  teas  in  Miss  Haven's  library,  there  were 
only  momentary  encounters  of  ones  or  twos  in 
Brook  Lane  and  in  the  cottage  parlor,  or  moro 


200  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

established  visiting  in  the  off-room  upstairs,  where 
Miss  Haven  or  Mrs.  Rospey  sat  with  Cyrilla  in  the 
hours  when  she  simply  had  to  be  within  hearing 
and  call,  while  Miss  Amelia  rested. 

Mrs.  Rextell  and  Mrs.  Sholto  and  Mrs.  Vance 
called  frequently ;  Brook  Lane  was  dinted  in  the 
middle  with  high-bred  hoof-tracks,  and  scored  mar 
ginally  with  light  wheel-marks,  like  crimped  ginger 
bread.  Fruits  and  flowers  were  heaped  in  parlor 
and  pantry,  —  great  purple-black  grapes ;  golden 
pears  of  name  and  pedigree,  each  laid  separately, 
like  a  jewel  of  amber,  on  soft  white  paper  or  fleecy 
cotton  ;  roses  and  heliotropes  and  azaleas  filling 
vase  and  bowl ;  the  fragrance  of  them  all  came 
forth  and  met  you  at  the  door.  All  this  converged 
here  suddenly,  and  showered  down  around  Miss 
Amelia  Bonable,  and  into  her  hard,  restrained  life. 
She  could  not  take  to  herself  the  half  in  food  or 
perfume  or  beauty  ;  but  the  loveliness  and  odor 
and  nourishing  of  it  crept  into  her  heart  that  had 
been  so  lonely.  It  was  a  sweeter  face  that  looked 
up  from  the  pillows ;  it  was  a  gentler  tone  and 
gesture  that  answered  inquiry  or  offering. 

Dr.  Harriman  sent  quail  and  pigeons  ;  she  did 
not  half  like  that,  but  she  only  told  Rill  not  to  let 
him  do  it  again  ;  she  was  getting  not  to  need  such 
things,  and  there  were  plenty  of  poor  sick  folks  in 
Wewachet,  if  he  wanted  to  do  kindness.  So  Rill 


BREAKS  AND  JOINS.  201 

saw  him  when  he  came  again,  and  thanked  him,  tell 
ing-  him  that  aunt  Amelia  said  he  was  very  good, 
but  begged  him  not  to  trouble  himself  for  her  any 
more,  as  she  was  getting  now  to  crave  the  homely, 
substantial  things  that  were  really  best  for  her. 

Dr.  Harriman  took  whatever  there  was  of  rebuff 
in  this  with  complacence ;  Rill  had  at  least  been 
obliged  to  see  him,  to  bring  the  message.  But,  if 
he  gained  that,  it  was  all  he  gained,  and  the  satis 
faction  did  not  last  him  long.  She  gave  him  the 
brief  word  and  excused  herself ;  and  he  did  not  see 
her  again,  though  he  called  several  times. 

Putnam  King  made  his  little  offerings,  also  ;  but 
he  came  and  went  with  but  very  unsatisfactory 
glimpses  of  even  his  aunt  Elizabeth  ;  and  at  the 
cottage  he  made  no  attempt,  of  course,  in  the  pre 
sent  state  of  things,  to  go  farther  than  the  door. 
The  whole  house  was  upstairs  ;  the  women-friends 
went  there ;  nobody  came  down,  and  he  could  not 
ask  it.  Then  the  weeks  at  Huxtable  intervened, 
and  although  he  managed  to  run  out  to  Wewachet 
the  very  day  he  came  up  from  the  Cape,  he  only 
found  a  yet  more  settled  withdrawal  and  isolation 
barring  him  off.  The  little  attentions  at  the  door, 
of  inquiry  or  gift,  were  neither  needed  nor  plausible 
now  ;  Miss  Bonable  was  getting  well ;  but  it  was 
the  slow  tediousness  of  creeping  back  from  positive 
illness  to  the  taking  up  of  the  habits  of  life  again  ; 


202  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP, 

and  Rill  was  almost  more  shut  in  than  before. 
This,  it  was  to  be  suspected,  was  partly  voluntary ; 
for  some  reason  she  did  not  care  to  emerge  much 
from  her  seclusion  ;  but  she  was  really  wanted  in 
a  hundred  ways,  and  at  any  possible  minute.  Miss 
Bonable  had  her  little  invalid  occupations,  her  knit 
ting,  her  rug  work  ;  and  Rill  waited  upon  her  with 
all  her  furnishings  and  changes,  with  handling  and 
help.  She  read  aloud  to  her ;  she  arranged  her 
tray  when  her  food  was  brought  up  ;  she  made  her 
toilets  for  her  ;  these  things  took  all  her  time. 

If  ever  a  young  fellow  fell  in  love,  like  Prince 
Ahmed,  through  hearsay  and  from  a  picture,  Put- 
man  King  was  getting  bewitched  in  that  fashion 
with  his  Aldegonda,  now.  Aunt  Elizabeth  was  as 
simple  and  clear  as  a  sunbeam  ;  she  revealed  that 
which  she  shone  upon  in  reflected  lights  ;  Putnam 
King  had  only  to  spi'ing  his  little  kodak  upon  her 
with  question  or  remark,  and  get  a  clear  impression 
of  a  quiet  interior,  with  Rill  Raye  as  central  figure, 
in  her  grace  of  steadfast  self-denial,  her  royal 
womanliness  of  ministry.  He  was  not  barred  out, 
—  he  was  admitted  intimately,  to  privilege  and  un 
derstanding  ;  to  a  growing  absorption  in  one  sweet, 
admiring  study.  He  was  learning  her  now,  "in 
her  natural  relations  ;  "  as  he  had  said  a  man  must 
learn  the  woman  he  would  care  for. 

And  Rill  Raye  was  unconscious.     She  was  abid- 


BREAKS  AND  JOINS.  203 

ing  in  that  foregone  conclusion  that  she  had  no 
dear,  real,  beautiful,  natural  surroundings  to  be 
known  in;  that  hers  — and  her  use  of  them  — 
were  all  against  her ;  that  she  could  never  be 
known  in  herself,  for  what  she  was  really  worth, 
by  those  she  would  care  should  know  her. 

Putnam  King  had  gone  away,  —  had  stayed  away, 

—  was  never  coming  any  more   as  he  had  come. 
He  had  heard  that  silly,  vain  story  which  told  as 
if  it  must  have  set  forth  from  herself,  or  from  near 
her,  —  that  of  the  two  she  could  have  her  choice. 
He  had  not  done  as  the  other  did,  —  "  explained  " 

—  that  he  could  not  seek  or  marry  her  !    He  had 
not  put  her  to  that  blush,  that  indignity.     But  he 
had  quietly  dropped  himself  out ;  there  would  be 
nothing  more  of  Putnam  King  in  her  story.    There 
never  had  been   anything!     She  had  not  been  a 
fool,  though  he  might  be  afraid  of  her  as  one. 

There  was  nothing  now  for  her  to  do  but  to  take 
care  of  aunt  Amelia,  and  let  her  own  dull  life  run 
on.  She  thought  it  would  be  dull  ;  that  it  would 
not  even  be  tempestuous  with  its  little  bursts  of 
passion,  as  it  had  been.  Partly,  she  did  not  care  ; 
and  partly,  she  meant  to  be  more  good ;  she  would 
learn  patience ;  that  was  what  would  have  to  take 
the  place  of  pleasure  for  her,  all  her  years. 

Underneath  all,  a  little  spring  of  hidden  life  — 
of  possible  joy  that  should,   some  time,  well  up 


204  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

from  deeper  than  all  this — made  itself  conscious 
in  her.  She  did  not  quite  forget  that  moment  in 
the  lovely,  lonely  wood ;  the  word  that  had  come 
to  her  there :  "  I  have  called  thee  by  thy  name ; 
thou  art  mine.  Fear  not ;  I  have  redeemed  thee." 

Some  One  was  doing1  something  with  her,  doubt 
less  ;  if  she  could  wait  and  bear,  the  blind  trick 
ling  of  her  hindered  life-seeking  might  come  forth 
from  the  dark  rock  cranny  and  the  wilderness 
tangle,  into  some  fairer,  open  reach,  and  find  its 
growth  and  form ;  the  little  quiver  of  light  that 
struggled  in  her  might  pierce  its  way  across  her 
present  darkness,  and  carry  itself  —  urged  by  the 
great  pulsing  glory  out  of  which  it  had  been  born 
—  to  the  beauty  whither  it  was  sent.  Cyrilla  was 
very  thoughtful  in  these  days ;  it  seemed,  perhaps, 
to  Miss  Bonable  as  if  she  were  only  quenched  and 
dulled  ;  as  if  she  found  things  very  weariful.  It 
was  harder  now  to  understand  the  girl  than  it 
had  ever  been  ;  aunt  Amelia  had  not  thought  such 
mood  as  this  was  in  her. 

Upon  Cyrilla's  side  there  was  a  difference  ;  she 
was,  in  one  way,  nearer  understanding  her  aunt 
than  she  had  ever  been ;  though  she  also  wondered 
at  this  new  phase  in  which  she  saw  her.  She  per 
ceived  now  through  other  eyes  ;  she  found  out  what 
Miss  Bonable  could  be  to  those  whom  she  trusted, 
respected,  was  warmed  to  with  sense  of  kindness. 


BREAKS  AND  JOINS.  205 

"  Why  could  she  not  be  like  that  to  me  ?  Why 
could  she  not  believe  in  me  ?  "  Cyrilla  asked 
sadly. 

A  very  little  turn,  either  way,  with  these  two, 
now,  would  reveal  to  sweeter  issues  or  shut  up  to 
more  mistrust  than  ever.  They  had  been  too  much 
alone  together ;  now,  possibly,  they  were  a  little 
in  danger  of  some  withdrawal  through  a  lai-ger 
friendly  intercourse  beyond  themselves,  and  a  too 
far-off  and  objective  perception  of  each  other.  "  If 
this  is  real,  she  has  not  been  real  with  me,"  was 
the  thought  of  each. 

At  least,  however,  they  had  been  lifted  into  a 
fresher,  safer  atmosphere.  They  were  not  getting 
the  reflected  judgments  of  a  lower  social  stratum. 
The  "  they  says "  or  "  they  will  says "  of  the 
Sharkes  and  Porbeagles  were  not  whispering  to 
their  hearing  or  their  apprehension. 

If  they  could  have  lived  on  so  a  little  longer,  — 
if  that  had  not  happened  which  did  happen,  —  but 
again  —  if  ?  When  it  came,  who  shall  say  that  it. 
also,  was  not  sent  of  loving  purpose  for  the  two 
hearts  and  lives  ?  Nothing  less,  it  may  be,  would 
have  so  shown  the  whole  truth  between  them ;  so 
stirred  and  impelled  that  which  needed  to  break 
through  the  old  barriers,  change  the  old  currents, 
and  send  a  swift,  strong  force  along  the  further 
lines  of  their  waiting  lives. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

KARMA. 

"  WAS  my  father  a  bad  man  ?  " 

Rill  asked  this  startling  question  of  Miss  Haven 
one  day,  suddenly.  They  were  sitting  together  by 
the  fire  downstairs,  while  Miss  Bonable  took  her 
forenoon  nap  above. 

"  My  dear  !  why  should  you  think  I  could  know  ? 
And  why  do  you  ask  ?  "  answered  Miss  Haven, 
with  astonished  accent. 

"  Because  I  think  aunt  Amelia  has  told  you  a 
great  many  things  that  she  never  would  tell  me  ; 
and  because  —  although  I  would  not  ask  you  to 
tell  me  more  than  you  feel  right  —  I  think  I  have 
a  right  to  know  something ;  and  because,"  she 
went  on  very  staidly  and  collectedly,  "  aunt  Amelia 
has  said  so  many  times  to  me  in  the  old  worrying 
days,  '  what 's  bred  in  the  bone  will  come  out  in 
the  flesh.'  It  was  horrid  to  hear  her  say  that,  Miss 
Haven  ;  it  made  me  tremble  all  over  with  fear  and 
anger,  both  ;  it  put  me  down  ;  it  dared  me  to  say 
another  word.  I  never  did  dare  ;  it  was  always 


KARMA.  207 

the  end.  She  does  n't  say  so  now  ;  she  seems  dif 
ferent.  But  she  looks  at  me  as  if  everything  at 
all  nice  I  try  to  do  were  a  surprise  ;  as  if  she 
could  n't  account  for  it ;  as  if  she  wondered  how 
that,  by  any  accident,  were  bred  in  me." 

Rill's  voice,  for  all  its  controlled  quietness,  just 
broke  a  little.  A  troubled  laugh,  that  was  more 
pathetic  than  a  sob,  made  way  with  the  last  words. 
Then  she  sat  silent.  It  was  a  silence  that  de 
manded  answer. 

"  No,  Rill ;  your  father  never  was  a  bad  man. 
He  was  not,  I  suppose,  in  some  essential  things,  a 
quite  wise  one.  And  because  he  was  not  wise  in 
those  special  things,  he  was  not  just.  It  was  not 
money,  Rill,"  for  Rill's  eyes  widened,  and  her  lips 
parted  with  a  mute  inquiry.  "  It  was  something 
that  came  nearer.  Your  aunt  Amelia  cared  for  him, 
Cyrilla ;  and  he  ovght  to  have  belonged  to  her." 

"And  so,"  said  Rill,  slowly,  after  the  pause  in 
in  which  she  took  this  strange  thing  in,  "  she  never 
has  believed  in  me."  She  thought  she  had  the 
whole  explanation  now. 

Miss  Haven's  hands  lay  on  her  lap  with  her 
work  in  them.  She  was  looking  over  into  Rill's 
face,  with  a  hesitation  in  her  own  which  the  girl 
did  not  perceive.  Presently  she  took  up  her  knit 
ting-needles  again,  and  set  two  or  three  stitches. 
"I  think  we  had  better  leave  the  matter  there," 
she  said. 


208  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Cyrilla's  spirits  rose  almost  lightly  with  a  bound 
of  relief.  She  had  dreaded,  she  knew  not  what ; 
this  was  so  commonplace,  so  simple  ;  so  easy  of 
excuse,  perhaps.  It  was  very  queer  to  think  of 
aunt  Amelia  so.  "  Was  she  ever  pretty  ?  "  she 
asked.  She  almost  asked  if  she  had  been  ever 
young. 

"  I  think  she  is  pretty  now  ;  behind  the  hiding," 
said  Miss  Haven,  quaintly. 

Cyrilla  laughed.  "And  loving  too,"  she  said, 
"  behind  the  hardening  ?  "  The  question  came  to 
her  with  instant  hope.  She  put  it  gladly. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  Cyrilla.  Sometimes  a  heart 
that  can  love  most  can  harden  most." 

"  And  be  most  —  suspecting  ?  "  This  was  asked 
reluctantly,  but  as  if  it  need  be  asked.  "  Do  you 
suppose  she  was  that  —  may  be  —  with  my  fa 
ther  ?  " 

It  had  not  escaped  Miss  Haven  that  such  fact 
might  have  been.  Her  "  I  do  not  know,"  was  neg 
ative  admission. 

"  It  is  her  way,"  said  Cyrilla.  "  How  she  thinks 
of  everything,  I  can't  guess  ;  but  if  you  were  up  to 
the  worst  mischief,  she  would  be  beforehand.  Her 
hands  are  held  out  in  the  dark  ready  for  things  to 
run  against,  even  when  they  're  not  there.  It 
makes  you  feel  as  if  she  must  invent  out  of  —  con 
sciousness.  But  I  know  she  is  a  good  woman. 


KARMA.  209 

Chiselwood  gave  her  a  word  once  that  fitted  ;  I  've 
quoted  it  to  her  since,  and  made  her  very  angry, 
when  she  has  been  pre-accusing  me.  It  was  very 
impertinent ;  because  it  was  so  —  pertinent !  " 

"  Chiselwood  —  impertinent !  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  he  was  complimentary,  I  suppose  ;  it 
was  my  application  that  was  pert.  How  many 
parts  and  turns  there  are  to  that  word,  Miss  Ha 
ven  !  Chiselwood  was  putting  in  the  new  pantry 
window.  She  was  afraid  of  its  giving  a  chance  to 
burglars  ;  and  she  had  a  top  bolt  and  a  bottom 
bolt,  and  a  wooden  shutter,  and  an  inside  blind. 
'  They  could  slip  that  with  a  knife,'  she  said  ;  or, 
'  they  could  cut  that  right  out  with  a  centre-bit  and 
saw ;  they  could  feel  where  it  was  through  the 
crack,'  she  kept  suggesting.  At  last  Chiselwood 
laid  down  his  screwdriver  and  looked  up  at  her :  '  I 
think  you  \l  make  a  pretty  good  burglar,  mum,'  he 
said.  And  then  she  hushed  up,  and  walked  off." 

Miss  Haven  could  but  laugh. 

"  I  'in  afraid  it 's  treacherous,  my  telling  even 
you,"  said  Rill.  "  I  really  do  want  to  be  true  and 
kind  ;  but  why  was  I,  just  /,  with  just  my  faults, 
put  precisely  where  I  am,  and  in  contact  with  — 
just  such  others?  The  world  is  made  so  queer, 
Miss  Haven  ;  and  we  are  born  so  queerly  !  " 

"  I  suppose  we  are  born  where  we  belong,"  said 
Miss  Haven  simply. 


210  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Rill  heard  her  with  a  start.  "  Have  you  thought 
that  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Thought  what,  my  dear?  " 

"•  That  we  have  been  before  ?  That  we  come 
into  the  places  we  have  deserved  ?  That  it  is  all 
our  own  '  natural  selection  '  ?  "  said  Rill,  with  rapid 
impulse.  The  utterance  was  out  of  some  keen, 
repressed  thinking. 

Miss  Haven  laid  her  hand  over  on  both  of 
Rill's,  that  were  tightly  clasped  across  her  knee. 
"  I  have  thought  that ;  and  read  it.  It  explains 
a  great  deal.  It  is  the  old  Buddhist  doctrine  of 
Karma.  But  it  needs  a  gospel  to  reach  further. 
It  is  true,  at  any  rate,  from  stage  to  stage  of  tins 
life  ;  we  come  into  what  our  choices  and  acts  lead 
us  to.  If  it  should  be  true  from  life  to  life,  if  it 
has  already  brought  us  to  our  birth  and  place  in 
this  world,  what  then  ?  It  is  only  more  of  it :  a 
longer  illustration.  The  fact  and  law  remain  ; 
and  the  necessity  that  we  accept  our  self  as  our 
piece  of  human  work  and  responsibility.  We  have 
each  our  own  bit  of  evil  to  destroy,  our  own  bit  of 
the  kingdom  to  build.  We  can  be  brave  with  that 
thought,  can't  we,  Rill  ?  We  can  be  thankful ;  for 
we  can  redeem  and  vindicate  not  only  our  own 
lives,  but  lives  that  were  before.  We  can  prove 
the  latent  nobility  of  fatherhood  and  motherhood. 
It  is  the  '  honoring  '  of  the  fifth  commandment. 


KARMA.  211 

Christianity  takes  us  up  where  Buddhism  drops 
us.  My  child!"  —  Miss  Haven  said,  with  eager 
tenderness,  warming  with  her  instant  word  that 
she  felt  was  also  a  word  for  the  time  to  come  — 
"  my  dear  child  !  Christ  took  upon  himself  our 
whole  fallen  humanity  so :  to  redeem  and  restore 
it,  even  to  itself ;  and  to  show  that  its  real  father 
hood  was  in  God !  "  Her  face  glowed,  and  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes. 

Rill's  were  large  and  tender  too  ;  a  soft  color 
came,  and  her  lips  took  a  gentler,  quieter  curve. 
But  she  said,  still  with  a  question,  "  Ah,  dear  Miss 
Haven,  it  is  those  '  acts  and  choices ' !  They  are 
terrible ;  they  come  every  minute,  and  we  make 
so  many  mistakes  ;  and  then  —  we  are  in  places 
where  we  were  not  meant  to  be  !  " 

"Yes,  the  choice  is  now — every  minute  ;  '  now 
is  the  accepted  time ;  now  is  the  day  of  salva 
tion.'  It  changes  and  shapes  for  us  continually. 
But  there  is  more  than  that ;  there  is  a  choice 
beyond  our  own  natural  selection  ;  something  is 
chosen  in  us  and  for  us,  with  help  and  hindrance. 
We  are  pre-vented.  God  is  on  our  side.  It  is  his 
own  side." 

"  He  puts  us  —  he  lets  us  be  put,  or  put  our 
selves  —  in  very  hard  places  !  " 

Rill  spoke  slowly,  half  reluctantly,  but  still  as  if 
she  must.  She  would  not  say  so  any  more,  but 


212  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

she  could  not  yet  understand  why  she  and  aunt 
Amelia  should  have  been  set  to  hinder  each  other  ; 
why,  at  least,  they  could  not  have  been  made  to 
find  each  other  out  sooner  and  better.  That  which 
had  been  given  her  of  late  made  it  the  stranger, 
somehow,  that  such  had  not  been  given  before,  or 
always. 

"  I  will  tell  you  something  beautiful,"  said  Miss 
Haven,  "  that  fits  just  there.  It  only  came  to  me 
the  other  day  —  in  time  for  you.  I  have  a  new 
treasure  —  an  '  emphasized  New  Testament,'  in 
which  the  readings  give  the  old  Greek  idioms  and 
order  of  importance  in  the  wordings.  And  I  found 
this :  * ./,'  —  the  '  I  '  was  a  heavy  capital,  —  '  as 
many  soever  as  I  may  be  tenderly  loving,  am  con 
victing,  and  putting  under  discipline  :  be  zealous, 
therefore,  and  repent.'  We  cannot  conquer  our 
selves  until  we  are  convicted  of  ourselves  ;  we  can 
not  '  grow  warm,'  '  be  zealous,'  and  '  turn  back,' 
until  this  tenderly  -  loving  discipline  compels  — 
urges  ivith  us  !  " 

Rill's  head  took  a  lower  bend  ;  the  soft  eyes 
veiled  themselves ;  she  could  not  say  another  word. 

She  carried  that  about  with  her  for  days. 

"  7,  as  many  as  I  may  be  tenderly  loving,  am 
convicting,  and  putting  under  discipline." 

Her  whole  life  looked  comforted  to  her  ;  it  was 
as  if  she  saw  it  lying  in  God's  hand.  A  hope  kept 


KARMA.  213 

breathing  up  into  her  spirit.  Not  a  hope,  so  de 
fined,  for  the  future ;  it  was  a  hope  for  the  past ; 
that  it  had  not  been  all  wrong,  —  all  punishment. 
She  had  been  convicted,  that  she  might  conquer. 
She  had  been  let  run  on  into  fault  —  into  darkness 
—  that  she  might  desire  to  turn  and  come  back 
into  the  truth,  the  light.  A  noble  ardor  was  born 
in  her ;  she  knew  what  that  old  word  meant,  — 
"  be  zealous."  She  said  in  her  heart,  "  I  will 
choose  and  act,  not  for  myself,  but  for  the  right. 
Myself  will  be  taken  care  of." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"YOU    MAY,    MY    CHILD." 

UPON  this  mood  there  came  an  unlooked-for 
happening ;  a  gladness  that  surprised,  and  searched 
her  also  ;  a  two-edged  word  of  God. 

Putnam  King  was  not  a  helpless  person  ;  he 
only  yielded  to  circumstances  until  he  could  fashion 
other  circumstances  to  counteract  them. 

One  day,  a  little  while  before,  the  early  dinner 
at  the  cottage,  which  was  prompt  at  this  time  to 
the  noonstreak  on  the  kitchen  floor,  —  when  Cle- 
inenthy  was  making  up  some  special  savoriness  for 
the  meal,  after  which  would  come  Miss  Bonable's 
twenty-minute  nap,  and  then  her  game  of  backgam 
mon  with  Mrs.  Rospey,  who  had  promised  her  the 
afternoon,  —  a  carriage  rolled  smoothly  to  the  little 
front  gate.  A  pair  of  noble  horses,  whose  spirit 
and  training  showed  in  beautiful  equilibrium  with 
every  movement,  brought  it  swiftly  to  its  stopping- 
place,  and  drew  up  there  as  cleanly  and  promptly 
as  they  had  sped  along.  Putnam  King  was  on  the 
forward  seat,  and  held  the  reins. 


"YOU  MAY,  MY  CHILD."  215 

Cyrilla  came  down  toward  the  open  door,  over 
the  straight  little  staircase  that  nearly  reached  the 
threshold. 

"  Has  my  aunt  come  round  here  yet,  Miss  Raye?  " 
asked  the  young  man,  across  the  shoulder  of  Miss 
Pond,  who  had  emerged  below  and  appeared  at  the 
entrance  ;  but  who,  finding  her  service  superfluous, 
and  not  wont  to  hold  herself  in  any  needless  wait 
ing,  walked  unperturbed  away. 

"No,"  Cyrilla  answered,  "Miss  Haven  has  not 
been  here  to-day." 

"  I  thought  she  would  be  here  ;  I  will  drive  over 
to  the  Corner  for  her  ;  she  will  be  ready.  Miss 
Cyrilla,  will  you  put  on  your  wraps  meanwhile  ? 
She  wishes  you  to  go  round  Grayfells  with  her.  It 
is  a  lovely  day.  Don't  mind  dinner  ;  we  must  take 
the  heart  of  the  sunshine ;  we  are  to  have  a  car 
riage  lunch." 

Hill  hesitated  ;  she  was  taken  unprepared ;  she 
could  not  quite  understand.  Miss  Haven  had  said 
nothing  of  this  plan.  But  to-day  was  such  a  beau 
tiful  surprise  of  autumn  weather ;  it  could  not 
have  been  counted  on.  We  may  say  that  it  had 
been  counted  on,  and  very  eagerly  watched  for  by 
Mr.  Putnam  King.  Such  days  do  come,  though 
they  give  no  notice,  even  away  on  into  November ; 
they  are  the  golden-ripe  days  of  the  year.  Now 
that  it  had  arrived,  he  had  ordered  his  line  of 
action  in  such  a  way  as  to  preclude  defeat. 


216  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Rill  was  lost  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  well 
equipped  carriage  and  the  driver  who  so  gracefully 
held  the  reins.  "  I  wonder,"  she  thought,  "  if  I 
must  n't.  I  wonder  if  I  may." 

"  Thank  you.  I  do  not  know,"  Rill  said,  after 
but  a  few  moments'  perceptible  hesitation.  "I 
will  see.  When  Miss  Haven  comes  —  I  couhl  be 
ready  in  a  moment,  if  I  were  to  go.  It  would 
be  very  pleasant,"  she  added,  as  fearing  she  had 
taken  such  a  kindness  with  too  scant  recognition. 

"  It  ivill  be  very  pleasant,"  said  Putnam  King, 
with  a  bright  smile,  and  the  light  lif-t  of  the  reins 
which  gave  the  signal  to  his  horses.  He  turned 

o  o 

them  neatly  between  wall  and  wall,  over  the  turf 
sides,  coming  close  to  the  gateway  as  he  brought 
them  round,  and  leaning  with  a  backward  glance 
toward  her  before  he  let  them  take  their  pace. 
"  We  shall  be  here  again  directly,"  were  his  last 
words ;  and  the  carriage  passed  beyond  the  ash- 
tree,  over  the  soft  bed  of  leaves,  old-gold  and 
bronze,  that  lay  heaped  and  strewn  far  out  around 
its  foot. 

"  I  wonder,"  Rill  repeated  slowly,  "  if  I  must  n't. 
I  wonder  —  if  I  may." 

"  It  is  only  one  —  pleasant  —  afternoon,"  she 
still  deliberated,  going  up  the  stairs.  "  It  is  with 
Miss  Haven  —  why  should  I  refuse  her?  I  must 
learn  not  to  want  more  than  I  can  get ;  but  what 


"FOLT  MAY,  MY  CHILD:'  217 

comes  to  me,  why  should  n't  I  take  ?  I  will  leave  it 
to  aunt  Amelia,"  she  concluded  rapidly.  "  If  she 
makes  the  slightest  objection,  if  she  wants  me  for 
the  least  thing,  that  shall  settle  it.  I  do  want  to 
be  shown ;  I  dont  want  to  do  all  the  choosing  by 
myself." 

It  was  not  a  blind  fate  she  was  invoking ;  in  her 
heart  there  was  a  prayer.  Without  looking  for 
the  thing  that  made  her  fearful,  without  such  allow 
ing  as  would  force  directly  a  struggle  that  would 
shame  her,  she  began  to  find  her  choices  perilous, 
to  realize  in  a  dim  way  how  she  needed  to  be  given 
a  "  right  judgment  in  all  things,"  and  to  be  "  kept 
continually"  in  a  "holy  comfort."  She  wanted 
that  mothering  in  the  spirit,  of  which  the  child,  in 
its  first  mothering,  learns  the  beautiful  sign. 

"  Aunt  Amelia,"  she  said,  entering  the  pleasant 
south  chamber  where  Miss  Bonable,  in  her  big, 
white  easy-chair,  sat  by  the  garden  window,  "  Mr. 
Putnam  King  has  just  been  here,  with  a  carriage 
and  a  message  from  Miss  Haven.  They  want  me 
to  be  ready  for  a  drive  with  them,  round  Grayfells. 
It  will  take  all  the  afternoon.  Could  you  spare 
me,  or  had  I  better  not  go  ?  " 

The  odor  of  Clementhy's  chicken  stew  was  steal 
ing  up  to  Miss  Amelia's  nostrils ;  her  knitting- 
work  was  all  arranged  in  the  wide  red  basket  at 
her  side  ;  the  backgammon  table  was  out  and 


218  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

open  ;  all  the  momentary  surroundings  were  sub- 
tilely  propitious.  But  it  was  not  altogether  these ; 
she  was  pleased  with  Cyrilla's  straightforward 
manner ;  she  was  grateful  to  her ;  she  had  some 
half-fledged  hope  of  her  ;  her  real  love  for  the  girl 
pleaded  for  indulgence. 

"  I  sha'n't  want  you,"  she  replied.  "  Martha 
Rospey  is  coniing,  and  will  stay  to  tea.  Clemen- 
thy  's  got  corn-muffins  and  sweet  apples  and  cream. 
I  'm  going  to  knit  on  my  quilt ;  I  sha'n't  play  all 
the  time." 

Aunt  Amelia  had  a  rigorous  conscience,  even 
over  her  own  invalid  amusements.  She  was  hon 
est,  also,  clear  through.  "  Martha  Rospey  is  going 
to  bring  her  board,  and  show  me  Polish  backgam 
mon,"  she  added  ;  "though  I  don't  much  expect  I 
shall  like  it." 

Cyrilla  took  her  leading  with  a  light  heart.  It 
was  as  if  somebody,  beyond,  though  by  word  of 
aunt  Amelia,  had  said  to  her  lovingly,  "  You  may, 
my  child." 

She  was  ready  at  the  door  when  the  carriage 
was  driven  back.  Nobody  could  have  guessed 
from  Miss  Haven's  manner  that  she  had  been 
routed  by  her  nephew  from  a  peaceful  nap,  to  be 
told  that  she  wanted  to  go  round  Gray  fells  with 
Miss  Raye  and  himself,  and  that  Miss  Rave  was 
waiting  for  them  at  the  cottage.  "  You  are  not  to 


"  YOU  MAY,  MY  CHILD."  219 

mind  dinner,"  he  said,  as  he  had  said  to  Cyrilla. 
u  I  've  got  a  whole  basketful  of  deliciousness  put 
up  at  your  Woman's  Exchange." 

"  But  look  at  all  this,"  Miss  Haven  had  said, 
sitting  up  against  her  sofa  pillow.  "  I  was  going 
to  be  so  busy,  presently."  "  All  this  "  was  a  con 
fusion  of  ribbon-and-lace  boxes  and  piece-baskets, 
with  an  array  of  half  a  dozen  charming  little 
bisque-faced  dolls  leaning  in  semicircle  around  the 
deep  cushion  of  an  armchair.  "  I  was  to  finish 
some  of  these  to-day  ;  the  fair  begins  next  Mon 
day.  How  can  I  leave  them  ?  " 

"How  can  you  leave  Miss  Raye  and  me?  These 
girls  don't  want  matronizing,"  said  Putnam  King. 

"  You  naughty,  double-dealing  boy !  "  aunt  Eliz 
abeth  had  exclaimed.  And  then  she  had  got  up 
and  sent  him  off  while  she  put  on  her  other  gown 
and  her  bonnet. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going  with  us,"  she  said 
with  veracious  in  consistence  to  Rill  Raye  when  she 
found  her  at  the  doorstep. 

Her  guile  was  like  her  gossip ;  the  one  became 
truth,  as  the  other  became  benediction,  in  its  ut 
terance. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HORIZONS. 

THE  broad  back  seat  of  the  low  carriage  curved 
forward  at  the  ends ;  the  corners  were  perfect  for 
lounging,  and  it  was  easy  for  the  occupant  of  the 
driving-seat,  by  a  half  turn,  to  face  either  of  those 
behind.  Kill  took  the  left-hand  place  ;  it  was  upon 
the  side  nearest  as  they  had  drawn  up.  Putnam 
King  naturally  kept  to  the  right.  He  managed 
the  lines  easily,  and  as  easily  gave  half  his  atten 
tion  at  the  backward  diagonal. 

It  was  the  very  last  day  of  October ;  one  of 
those  days  that  only  come  in  the  afterglow  of  the 
year ;  different  from  summer  weather,  different 
from  the  gorgeousness  of  early  autumn  ;  but  tender, 
inexpressibly,  with  a  warmth  that  was  like  love 
loath  to  leave,  —  still,  peaceful,  waiting  ;  a  kindli 
ness  of  Heaven  and  a  trustingness  of  earth. 

The  trees  —  all  but  here  and  there  a  few  —  had 
given  up  their  fleeting  beauty  of  summer  leafage 
and  of  dazzling  color ;  they  stood  in  their  grace 
and  strength  of  gloriously  arching  boughs  crowning 


HORIZONS.  221 

their  pillared  majesty,  their  veiling  lacework  of 
interweaving  stems  outlining  exquisitely  against 
the  blue  that  pressed  itself  into  their  myriad-formed 
interstices  in  wonderful  mosaic.  The  smells  of 
fruitage  lingered  in  the  air  ;  odors  of  cedar,  pine 
and  fern  came  drifting  from  the  woods  ;  as  they 
entered  the  forest  road  behind  the  town,  they  came 
into  the  full  deliciousness  of  these,  upon  which  the 
sun  lay  fervent. 

The  waylay  first  along  that  North  Road,  beyond 
Brook  Lane,  running  between  the  pines  and  chest 
nuts  of  the  Crooke  domain  and  the  wide-stretching 
woodland  on  the  other  hand,  rich  in  oak  and  beech, 
and  rising  into  high  pasture-downs,  upon  which 
stood  clumps  and  spires  of  evergreens  against  the 
sky. 

This  rise  of  land  was  the  beginning  of  the  Gray- 
fells  ;  a  few  miles  up  there  was  a  break  between 
the  heightening  cliffs  where  the  road  wound  in  and 
through  ;  then  it  went  up  along  the  northeastwardly 
trend  again,  with  the  fells  upon  the  right.  Far 
over  in  the  outskirts  of  Wewachet,  in  the  sparsely- 
built  farm  region,  there  was  a  turn  over  the  ridge 
itself,  where,  with  a  long  ascending  slope,  the  crest 
was  reached  and  passed.  And  down  upon  the  east 
incline  you  came  into  woods  and  pastures  and  farm- 
fields  again,  through  whose  alternating  pleasant 
ness  was  gained  once  more,  after  the  wide  circuit, 


222  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

the  entrance  into  Old  Village  ;  and  so,  for  our 
friends,  the  coming  back  from  Tide  Point  home. 
This  was  the  drive  "  around  Grayfells." 

"  This  north  way  round  is  the  prettiest  bit  of 
drive,  I  think,  in  all  the  country  here,"  said  Mr. 
King,  as  they  rolled  noiselessly  along  the  soft, 
brown,  natural  road,  untouched  by  the  offense  of 
McAdam,  and  entered  under  the  warm,  spicy  shade 
of  the  pine  woods. 

"  The  way  we  seldom  have  a  chance  to  go  is  apt 
to  seem  the  prettiest.  This  is  outside  our  beaten 
tracks  ;  we  only  come  for  pleasure.  If  we  usually 
had  to  take  this  road,  we  should  think  the  sunshiny 
stretch  along  the  meadows  delightful,  I  suppose." 
There  was  a  happy  little  thrill  in  Cyrilla's  voice  as 
she  spoke,  Miss  Haven  leaving  the  reply  to  her. 

"  Yes  ;  there  's  a  charm  in  the  unusual.  And  in 
the  sense  of  special  possession,  too.  We  have  this 
all  to  ourselves,  for  the  time  being,  as  if  nobody  else 
ever  came  this  way.  A  common  thoroughfare  is  a 
dull  thing.  What  everybody  does,  or  has,  every 
day,  we  do  not  care  for.  We  like  to  find  our  own 
pathways,  or  to  think  we  do ;  even  if  they  are  only 
what  all  the  generations  before  have  trodden  out 
for  us.  Life  is  a  queer  thing." 

"  It  is  lived  queerly,"  Rill  rejoined,  involuntarily. 
And  then,  as  if  she  had  taken  more  to  herself  than 
she  had  meant  to,  and  was  getting  further  into 


HORIZONS.  223 

analytics  than  was  quite  fitting  for  her  with  Put 
nam  King,  while  his  aunt,  to  whom  he  belonged, 
sat  by,  she  shifted  both  talk  and  address  with  a 
pretty  insouciance. 

"  Did  you  know,  Miss  Haven,  that  the  green 
ridge  over  there  has  always  been  called  Rattlesnake 
Hill?  What  an  ugly  name,  is  n't  it,  to  be  fastened 
to  a  beautiful  spot  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  if  the  ugly  things  were  fastened  there, 
it  was  safe,  perhaps,  to  give  it  a  true  calling,"  said 
Miss  Haven. 

"  I  'in  afraid  there  would  be  plenty  of  ugly 
names,"  said  Putnam  King,  "if  we  had  fair  warning 
of  everything  in  the  christening.  It  is  only  now 
and  then  that  a  thing,  or  a  person,  gets  named 
after  the  fact." 

"  But  then,  you  see,"  said  Rill,  "  the  fact  may 
change,  and  the  name  stays.  TJiat  is  n't  fair.  I 
don't  think  there  has  been  a  rattlesnake  on  that 
hill  for  years." 

"  Did  they  all  come  down  into  Wewaehet?  " 

Rill  laughed.  "  May  be  they  did, "  she  said. 
"  There  have  been  a  good  many  killed,  I  've  been 
told.  I  never  saw  one." 

"  Perhaps  that 's  your  innocence.  You  had  better 
look  out  for  the  rattle.  I  think  I  've  heard  it. 
People  may  be  bitten,  sometimes,  before  they  know 
of  the  danger." 


224  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  If  you  like  to  talk  parables,  why  can't  you  find 
pleasant  ones  ?  "  put  in  Miss  Haven,  who  had  yet 
not  been  able  herself  to  keep  from  laughing  a  little, 
with  Rill.  "  There  must  be  plenty,  I  think,  among 
all  these  beautiful  things." 

"  It  is  well,  however,  to  have  done  first  with  the 
rattlesnakes,"  said  the  young  man,  with  satisfac 
tion. 

Somehow,  Cyrilla  felt  a  trouble  put  away  from 
her  —  a  sting  removed,  or  fended  off  —  in  this  light 
nonsense  of  Mr.  King's.  Under  it  he  had  managed 
that  she  should  catch  some  fine  inference  that  no 
venom  had  been  able  to  poison  his  thought  of  her ; 
no  impertinence  of  tongues  had  meddled  with  her 
to  her  harm  with  him.  Not  that  she  made  the 
least  bit  more  of  the  inference  than  that;  it  was 
only  that  he  would  not  have  so  spoken  had  any 
foolishness  she  had  been  afraid  of  had  weight  with 
him  against  her. 

She  felt  freed  to  be  happy  ;  simply  happy  again 
in  the  friendliness  that  she  would  be  so  sorry  to 
lose.  She  ceased  to  catechise  herself,  even  in  that 
smothered  self-questioning  which  hurts  the  more 
that  it  covers  itself,  ashamed  or  dreading  to  be 
ashamed,  from  direct  and  open  thought.  Her  one 
pleasant  afternoon  had  begun  with  a  strange  and 
sudden  burst  of  blessed  sunshine.  She  was  so 
buoyantly  content  that  she  could  not  immediately 


HORIZONS.  225 

trouble  her  content  again  with  words.  She  sat 
silent,  while  now  and  then  Miss  Haven  and  her 
nephew  talked  casually,  with  brief  remarks  that 
did  not  grow  to  conversation. 

Out  beyond  the  woods  they  came  to  a  certain 
broad  swell  that  seemed  to  raise  itself  as  a  centre, 
zenith  ward,  whence  the  horizon  line,  broken  and 
closed  in  here  and  there  by  scattered  forest  growth, 
fell  away  from  the  slight,  beautiful  uplift,  leaving 
it  in  nearer  communion  with  the  sky. 

"  Stop  here  a  minute,  Put/'  said  Miss  Haven, 
reaching  out  her  hand.  Mr.  King  reined  in,  gently  ; 
they  came  instantly  to  a  stand. 

"  There  !  "  said  Miss  Haven.  "  Now  look  up. 
Did  you  ever  see  the  blue  and  the  clouds  so  near  ? 
And  yet  we  are  not  very  high.  I  have  noticed  it 
here,  and  in  one  other  place,  —  in  cousin  Sarah's 
brook-orchard.  I  have  walked  there  at  twilight, 
when  there  seemed  a  close  tent  of  the  loveliest 
colors  dropping  just  overhead  and  about  me.  I 
have  seemed  to  be  right  in  the  sunset." 

"  Here  we  are  in  the  blue  shine  and  the  soft 
whiteness.  It  is  wonderful.  What  makes  it  ?  " 

"  We  are  a  little  shut  in  as  to  our  horizon,  and 
we  are  just  a  little  lifted  above  it,"  said  Putnam 
King. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it !  "  said  Miss  Haven,  with  a  joy 
ful  accent.  "  You  have  explained  the  correspond 
ence.  That  makes  it  lovelier  than  ever." 


226  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  did  n't  intend  any  Swedenborgianism,"  said 
Putnam,  laughing. 

"  No.    It  was  there.    That  is  what  I  am  glad  of." 

"  We  shall  come  to  something  wider  by  and  by. 
You  will  be  glad  of  that,  too,  won't  you,  Miss 
Kaye  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  am  glad  of  everything,  in  a  day  like 
this,"  said  Rill. 

"  Little  horizons  and  all  ?  " 

"  Yes.  A  horizon  is  always  rolling  away.  There 
is  no  real  line  and  end.  That  is  something  to  make 
one  very  happy."  The  ring  in  her  voice  was  like 
clear-rippling  water-music. 

"  I  like  to  see  you  thoroughly  happy,  Miss  Rill," 
said  Putnam  King. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    HAPPY    HOUSETOP. 

THEN  they  drove  on  again.  From  this  point  the 
old  road  diverted  gradually  from  its  skirting  of 
Grayfells.  It  was  the  original  thoroughfare  around 
by  North  Shepaug,  across  the  further  shoulder  of 
Rattlesnake  Hill.  The  new  way,  over  the  fells, 
branched  before  the  curve  had  widened  far,  and 
crossed  diagonally  the  level  space  upon  the  right, 
to  the  first  reach  of  the  eastward  ascent.  The  two 
tracks  formed  a  broad-forked,  slant-stemmed  Y. 

Through  a  cut  in  the  Rattlesnake  ridge  was  being 
run  a  piece  of  railway  ;  a  bit  of  cross  section,  unit 
ing  two  main  lines.  In  its  progress  it  had  come 
through  upon  the  old  road,  just  beyond  the  fork  ; 
they  were  laying  the  track,  now,  at  grade.  Beyond, 
it  was  to  follow  its  course,  northeastwardly,  under 
the  diminishing  slopes  of  Grayfells. 

Putnam  King  had  not  thought  of  this  work  at 
all ;  of  course  he  could  not  have  known  that  it 
would  have  reached  this  precise  point  to-day.  Just 
before  they  came  to  their  own  safe  turn,  therefore, 


228  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

they  faced  suddenly  the  hindrance  and  confusion. 
There  was  something  startling  to  equine  nerve  in 
the  abrupt  surprise  of  the  swarming  groups,  the 
bright  red  shirts,  the  obstruction. 

"  Go  on,  boys  !  " 

It  was  but  a  cheery  little  word,  uttered  almost 
quietly,  with  a  careless  rising  inflection.  The  steady 
hand  at  the  same  instant  made  itself  just  felt  along 
the  communicating  lines.  It  was  the  connecting  of 
the  human  nerve  —  cool,  adequate,  assured  — with  the 
possible  flutter  of  the  animal.  It  was  enough,  and 
it  was  beforehand.  The  beautiful  beasts  lifted  their 
heads  and  curved  their  backs  with  the  perception 
and  the  cheek  that  might  have  been  a  fright,  but 
was  changed  to  a  confidence  ;  and  obeyed  the  guid 
ance  which  turned  them  aside  upon  the  crisp,  green 
level.  The  way  lay  safely  enough  along  this  wide, 
turfy  margin,  even  quite  past  the  cumber  of  rails 
and  sleepers,  and  the  bristle  and  motion  of  crow 
bars,  picks  and  men.  The  direction  they  were  now 
to  take  would  lead  them  comfortably  off  from  all. 

They  were  just  striking  their  side  road  from  this 
short  cut  over  the  grass,  and  entering  the  fringing 
thicket  of  birches  at  the  fell-foot,  when  the  sound 
of  a  shout  and  a  rush  arrested  them.  A  glance 
backward  showed  them  an  impending  disaster. 

Some  other  steed  had  been  less  sagaciously  man 
ageable,  or  less  adroitly  managed.  A  frightened 


THE  HAPPY  HOUSETOP.  229 

horse,  attached  to  a  low,  broad,  heavy  buggy,  had 
wheeled  to  the  left  and  bolted,  but  been  brought  up 
at  the  roadside,  upon  which  it  had  come  round  in 
its  wild  turn,  among  granite  blocks  strewn  ancT 
heaped  upon  the  grass  in  process  of  the  railway 
construction.  There  the  vehicle  had  been  caught ; 
it  stood  with  one  wheel  raised,  leaning  at  a  fright 
ful  angle,  and  held  fast ;  the  horse  leaped  and 
reared  frantically  among  the  stones,  coming  down 
each  time  against  the  rough  corners  and  edges 
which  wounded  and  infuriated  him,  and  at  every 
upward  spring  threatening  to  fall  backward  upon 
the  carriage  and  its  occupants. 

"  Those  men  are  fools  !  They  are  only  frighten 
ing  the  creature  more !  "  said  Putnam  King,  half 
rising  from  his  seat  with  the  impulse  to  go  and 
help.  The  laborers,  in  their  blazing  attire,  and 
with  their  shouts  and  crowding,  had  gathered  im- 
potently  around  the  struggling  animal,  unable  as 
yet  to  get  foothold  where  they  could  cope  with  him, 
or  even  to  make  close  approach. 

"  Go,  Mr.  King.  I  can  hold  the  reins,"  said 
Rill. 

She  was  out,  as  she  spoke,  by  the  low  step 
between  the  guards,  and  up  with  a  spring  to  the 
footboard  of  the  forward  seat.  Putnam  King 
glanced  quickly  in  her  face,  met  the  large,  steady 
eyes,  and  put  the  lines  in  her  hands  without  a  word. 


230  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

The  next  instant  he  had  come  round  by  the  heads 
of  the  horses,  given  them  a  quiet,  caressing  pat  and 
stroke,  said  in  that  same  cheery  tone  of  friendly 
*rapport,  "You  know  better,  boys,  don't  you  ?  ''  and 
was  off  with  the  same  breath  over  the  intervening 
bit  of  sward  and  roadway  to  the  rescue. 

The  wildly  excited  horse  had  twice  sprung  from 
the  grasp  of  the  men  who  had  tried  to  seize  and 
hold  him  by  the  head ;  had  actually  carried  one  of 
them  dangling  up  into  the  air  to  lose  his  hold  as 
he  came  down,  and  roll  back  among  the  blocks  of 
granite,  scratched  and  terrified. 

Putnam  King  sprang  up  on  one  of  the  stones 
just  forward  of  the  reach  of  the  dangerous  fore 
feet,  and  held  his  arms  outspread.  "  So  !  So  !  " 
he  cried  ;  not  plunging  or  grasping  at  the  animal, 
but  facing  him,  with  strong  word  and  gesture  of 
command  and  reassurance.  "  So  !  quiet  1  Who-a  ! 
good  horse !  " 

The  extended  arms,  the  determined,  friendly  eye, 
the  tone  of  sympathetic  control,  of  good  faith  and 
mastery,  prevailed  presently  over  even  brute  panic  ; 
the  creature  paused  between  his  springs  as  if  for 
possible  help.  Two  resolute  hands  met  a  well- 
watched  chance,  and  came  each  side  upon  the 
bridle.  "  So  !  —  So  !  "  and  the  horse  stayed  down. 
Then  one  hand  loosed  its  hold,  and  stroked  and 
soothed  him.  "  Good  horse  ! "  the  kind,  strong 
voice  repeated.  The  danger  was  over. 


THE  HAPPY  HOUSETOP.  231 

Some  of  the  red-shirted  men  had  helped  the 
people  from  the  buggy  ;  they  were  an  elderly  man 
and  his  wife.  The  latter  had  been  upon  the  down 
ward  side  ;  they  lifted  her  over  the  wheels  and 
stones  ;  then  her  husband  made  his  way,  and  stood 
beside  her.  Plenty  of  hands  detached  the  broken 
thills  and  harness  ;  the  horse  was  led  forth,  free 
and  trembling. 

Mr.  King  took  one  of  the  cushions  and  carried  it 
to  a  comfortable  place.  "  You  had  better  sit  down 
and  rest,  madam,"  he  said,  offering  her  his  arm. 

The  old  gentleman  was  pale  and  dazed.  He 
looked  ruefully  at  the  disordered,  dislocated  group, 
—  his  wife  with  torn  gown  and  twisted  bonnet,  his 
horse  with  cut  knees,  his  wrecked  conveyance. 

"  Just  wait,"  Putnam  told  them,  "  I  will  be  back 
again  presently  ;  we  will  see  what  can  be  done. 
Where  were  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  North  Shepaug ;  we  live  there,"  was  the 
answer  from  the  man. 

"  We  're  the  —  minister ;  I  mean  he  is,"  his  wife 
said,  and  laughed  tremulously  at  her  own  bewildered 
announcement. 

Putnam  King  was  back  beside  his  own  carriage. 

"  It  is  the  minister  and  his  wife  from  North 
Shepaug.  They  are  like  the  babes  in  the  wood,  or 
Adam  and  Eve  just  let  out  into  the  wilderness. 
I  think  I  ought  to  go  and  take  them  home." 


232  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  Of  course  you  ought,  Putnam,"  said  aunt 
Elizabeth,  with  alacrity,  stepping-  off  the  carriage 
with  the  word.  "  Kill  and  I  can  wait  here  quite 
comfortably." 

"  You  poor  old  lady !  I  quite  forgot  how  uncom 
fortable  you  might  be  with  only  feminine  hands 
upon  the  reins.  You  are  sure  you  won't  be  afraid 
now?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  What  should  there  be  to 
be  afraid  of  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  nice  little  place  up  there  at  the 
right,  just  off  the  road.  I  meant  we  should  take 
our  lunch  there.  You  and  Miss  Raye  can  begin." 

"  We  won't  touch  a  crumb  !  " 

"  We  won't  even  peep  to  see  what  crumbs  there 
are ! "  The  two  women  spoke  in  fugue,  indig 
nantly. 

"  I  shall  be  gone  less  than  twenty  minutes,  very 
likely,"  said  Mr.  King. 

They  found  the  place  he  told  them  of,  a  little 
hillside  s-pace,  hedged  in  with  hemlocks  spicy  in 
the  sun ;  the  rocky  shelf  which  made  its  floor 
carpeted  with  crisp,  short  turf  and  pale-green,  glis 
tening  moss ;  these  spotted  and  flecked  with  gold 
by  the  fallen  leaves  of  the  delicate  small  birches. 

"  What  a  lovely  little  corner  !  "  said  Miss  Haven, 
as  they  sat  down  and  looked  and  smelled  about 
with  delight. 


THE  HAPPY  HOUSETOP.  233 

"  What  a  lovely,  wonderful  corner  to-day  is  !  " 
said  Hill  Raye. 

"  'All  the  corners'  —  of  the  earth  and  life  —  are 
in  His  hands,"  said  aunt  Elizabeth,  simply.  And 
then,  with  readiest  turn  to  the  commonest  pleasant 
things  of  the  instant,  "  I  wonder  what  Put  has  got 
in  that  big  basket !  "  I  half  think  she  meant  a 
further,  higher  suggestion.  At  any  rate,  I  know 
Rill  Raye  thought  of  the  giving  of  the  bread  and 
the  great  baskets  full  that  might  be  waiting. 

Within  the  twenty  minutes,  back  came  Put. 
"They  live  just  in  the  northeast  corner,"  he  said. 
"Indeed,  the  minister  told  me  that  the  kitchen  and 
woodshed  are  over  the  line,  in  Wewachet.  The 
man  who  lives  with  him,  and  runs  the  farm  on 
shares,  sleeps  over  the  woodshed,  and  votes  in 
Wewachet ;  but  the  minister  sleeps  and  pays  taxes 
and  preaches  and  goes  to  town-meeting  in  Shepaug. 
He  does  n't  seem  to  think  it  matters  about  a  house 
divided  against  itself." 

He  chattered  on  as  he  brought  out  the  basket, 
and  opened  it.  He  could  have  chattered  about 
anything.  Apparently  enough,  it  was  a  lovely 
corner  in  time  to  him  also. 

Without  a  direct  word  to  herself,  it  made  Rill 
glad  to  see  him  so.  Perhaps  she  wondered,  just  a 
little,  that  he  did  not  make  allusion  to  her  bold 
holding  of  his  horses.  She  did  not  want  praise; 


234  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

she  did  not  magnify  her  service,  to  her  own  thought ; 
but  she  would  have  liked  if  he  had  thought  it  some 
thing.  Nevertheless,  she  was  as  glad,  almost,  as 
she  could  be. 

For  Putnam  King,  he  was  not  so  foolish  as  to 
waste  his  advantage  even  in  a  word.  "What  he 
thought  about  it  could  be  turned  to  better  account 
than  in  a  passing  thanks  or  even  honoring  comment, 
which  would  have  dismissed  the  matter  with  a  half 
using  of  its  capabilities  in  point.  He  had  in  him 
finer  qualifications  for  the  bar  than  that. 

There  was  a  good  deal  to  comment  upon  with 
satisfaction  in  what  he  called  the  "  woman's  grub." 
"  Positively,"  he  said,  "  they  show  their  sense  in 
this  part  of  their  business." 

Delicate  buttered  rolls,  delicious  little  chicken 
pates  ;  thin,  pink  shavings  of  ham,  curled  up  like 
rose-leaves ;  coffee,  richly  creamed,  in  a  bottle ; 
crisp  wafers,  only  known  to  the  "W.  E.,  that  crackle 
delightfully  in  the  mouth,  and  then  melt ;  great 
grapes  that  crowded  each  other  on  their  stems, 
with  cheeks  purple-black  in  winy  fullness  ;  even  a 
tiny  lunch-bouquet  for  each  person,  on  a  napkin ; 
these,  the  lifted  lid  and  carefully  exploring  fingers 
brought  to  light,  and  appetites,  touched  to  keen 
appreciation  by  the  elixir  of  October  air,  did 
thoroughly  enjoy. 

When,  a  little   later,  they    came   out   upon   the 


THE  HAPPY  HOUSETOP.  235 

broad,  bare,  breeze-ancl-sun-swept  top  of  Grayfells, 
the  rest  and  sweetness  joined  themselves  to  a  great, 
free  revelation.  The  horses  stopped,  as  if  it  were 
of  their  own  accord ;  their  accord  was  with  their 
driver  ;  they  threw  up  their  fine  heads  as  if  they 
recognized  with  their  own  joy  the  height,  the  ex 
panse  ;  they  stood  still,  not  just  because  it  was 
welcome  after  the  steep  climb,  but  with  some  pause 
of  unmistakable  pleasure  in  what  the  climb  had 
gained  ;  their  eyes  gleamed,  their  nostrils  were 
dilated ;  the  splendid  light,  the  pure,  keen  air, 
seemed  to  fill  them  with  all  their  nature  could 
take  in  of  breath  and  brilliance ;  at  what  precise 
point  their  nature  stopped,  replete,  who  shall  under 
take  to  say? 

Putnam  King  stood  by  them  ;  the  others  were 
out  of  the  carriage,  also,  upon  the  level,  rocky 
summit,  where  wheel-tracks  vanished  and  feet  trod 
-buoyantly. 

"  Ah,  this  is  the  happy  housetop ! "  Putnam 
King  exclaimed,  flinging  out  his  arms  with  jubilant 
freedom.  "  This  is  the  wide  place  I  told  you  of  ! 
We  are  rid  of  circumstance  up  here ;  we  are  let 
loose  ;  there  is  nothing  but  circumambience  !  " 

"  What  a  boy  you  are  !  "  his  aunt  said,  smiling. 

"  Yes ;  and  you  are  a  girl ;  that  is  just  what  is 
let  loose  in  us  when  we  get  out  of  things  like  this. 
Is  n't  it  good,  Miss  Raye  ?  " 


236  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  never  was  up  here,  before,"  Rill  answered 
slowly.  Her  delight  was  grave  ;  its  tone  was  quieted 
with  its  own  amazement. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  the  young  man  said,  as  he 
drew  nearer  to  her.  Away  down,  on  either  hand, 
they  had  left  it  all ;  they  looked  back  npon  it  as 
they  had  never  seen  it  seem  before.  Sunshine  and 
gentle  shadows  were  npon  everything ;  the  villages, 
the  mills  by  the  river,  the  spires,  the  bosks  of 
woods,  the  threads  of  highway,  thin  and  wandering ; 
the  shining  reach  of  the  Wewachet,  the  winding 
loops  of  the  Shepaug ;  the  broad,  united  tidal 
stream,  the  little  bay ;  in  the  far  southeastern 
distance,  the  silver  glitter  defining  the  sea-line. 

Putnam  pointed  this  out  to  his  companions. 
"That  makes  it  perfect,"  he  said.  "  Why  do  you 
suppose  it  does  ?  Why  is  there  nothing  like  the 
sea  to  satisfy  a  landscape  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  encompassing  life,"  Miss  Haven  an 
swered.  "  It  is  that  which  feeds  the  earth,  and  lies 
all  around  it,  without  end.  '  The  power  of  an  end 
less  life,'  "  she  repeated  softly,  to  herself. 

"  Then  why  is  there  to  be  '  no  more  sea '  ?  " 

"Just  for  the  reason  that  there  is  to  be  no  more 
sun.  It  will  be  Light  and  Life  direct,  and  type- 
less.  The  Lord  himself  will  be  sea  and  sun." 

Something  of  the  rapture  of  that  was  in  the 
time  and  place.  It  was  the  inspiration  of  the 


THE  HAPPY  HOUSETOP.  237 

heights.  They  were  silent  under  it.  But  without 
speech,  in  such  surroundings,  the  hearts  of  human 
beings  are  held  near. 

They  were  not  sure  how  long  they  had  been  there 
when  Miss  Haven  said  :  "  The  sun  is  getting  low 
behind  us  ;  we  had  better,  I  think,  go  down." 

Once  more  in  the  carriage  the  descent  did  not 
take  long.  The  road  followed  at  first  a  natural 
terracing,  turning  this  way  and  that,  from  slope 
to  slope  that  merged  one  into  another  ;  then  it  fell 
rapidly  through  a  dark  forest  piece,  to  the  level ; 
they  came  out  upon  the  common  way  again,  that 
carried  them  toward  the  Point ;  just  this  side  of 
Old  Village,  by  a  cross-road  and  a  turn,  they  bore 
round  homeward. 

They  were  presently  at  Crooke  Corner  ;  the  sun 
was  far  down,  westward  ;  the  heights  and  their  day 
were  behind  them. 

k'  I  will  leave  you  first,  aunt  Elizabeth ;  your 
dolly-babies  need  you." 

"  Oh,  thanks !  "  said  aunt  Elizabeth,  with  an 
accent. 

When  they  came  to  the  door,  however,  Rill  Raye 
alighted,  also.  "  I  am  to  take  two  dollies  home  to 
dress,  you  know,"  she  said.  "  Good-by,  Mr.  King  ; 
it  has  been  beautiful.  I  shall  remember  it  all 
winter." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE   MOON    OF   HALLOWEEN. 

PUTNAM  KING  did  not  say  good-by.  "  I  shall 
be  back  before  you  go  home,"  he  answered  her. 
The  words  conveyed  a  telephonic  meaning  to  Miss 
Haven  ;  they  gave  plainly  an  injunction, —  "  keep 
her." 

The  good  lady  did  not  quite  know  about  that ; 
she  discerned  purpose  in  Cyrilla,  also.  What  she 
did  not  allow  for,  after  all,  was  the  deeper  foresight 
and  strategy  of  Putnam  King. 

He  knew  very  well  that  Rill  Raye  would  scarcely 
let  herself  be  driven  home  by  him  alone  from 
Crooke  Corner,  in  that  unnecessarily  obvious  way ; 
he  did  not  suppose  she  would  stay  long  at  Miss 
Haven's,  either  ;  she  would  walk  off  almost  directly  ; 
he  would  rather  she  would  be  just  conscious  enough 
to  do  that.  She  would  almost  certainly  take  the 
pleasant  cross-cut  to  the  North  Road,  through  the 
chestnut  wood.  It  was  precisely  the  walk  he  wished 
to  take  with  her. 

A  few  rods  down  the  street  he  met  the  extra  man 


THE  MOON  OF  HALLOWEEN.  239 

from  Oates's,  coming  with  the  depot  driver  from  the 
3.50  train  ;  this,  again,  being  a  wisely  preordained 
circumstance.  To  him  he  resigned  his  own  team, 
and  retraced  his  way  rapidly  on  foot. 

He  was  just  in  time  to  catch  the  glimpse  he  had 
expected,  of  Cyrilla  crossing  the  orchard  edge  to 
the  wood-lot.  In  the  opening  of  the  glade  path 
between  the  great  trees,  he  overtook  her.  "  I  told 
you  I  would  be  back,"  he  said.  "  And  this  is  just 
the  way  I  meant  to  take  you  home.  The  day 
would  not  have  been  quite  perfect  without  this. 
One  does  not  care  to  go  by  beaten,  dusty  tracks, 
after  the  real  highways." 

It  was  what  Cyrilla  had  felt ;  it  was  the  instinct 
of  her  own  choice,  and  he  had  divined  it  of  her. 
They  passed  on  under  the  great  arching  boughs 
into  the  sweet  dimness  of  the  nutwood. 

"  You  held  those  horses  bravely,  to-day." 

Cyrilla  turned  her  face  toward  him  in  surprise. 
She  had  thought  that  matter  passed  over,  as  a  trifle 
done  with.  Now  he  spoke  of  it,  it  looked  a  trifle, 
though  she  had  been  a  little  glad  and  proud  of  it, 
before. 

"  Why,  it  was  not  brave,  at  all,"  she  said.  "  They 
held  themselves  ;  I  knew  they  would.  You  trusted 
them ;  they  understood  that  you  put  them  on  their 
honor  to  be  good  with  me."  As  she  spoke,  she 
understood  herself  ;  it  had  been  just  that  she  had 
been  proud  of. 


240  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  The  courage  was  in  your  comprehending ;  cour 
age  is  only  confidence  in  the  right  working  of 
things.  Misgiving  is  what  makes  afraid.  To 
believe  is  to  be  brave." 

They  were  words  from  him  which  made  her  heart 
beat.  Strong,  fine  words,  out  of  a  right,  high 
thinking.  She  was  glad  of  it  in  him  ;  she  was 
glad  that  he  would  speak  it  so  to  her. 

"  They  were  such  lovely  horses,"  she  said.  She 
could  only  put  her  thrill  of  feeling  into  words  of 
them. 

"  Yes ;  they  are  the  sort  a  man  can  establish  a 
relation  with.  Horses,  in  harness,  are  but  an  ex 
tension  of  human  nerves  and  temperament.  There 
must  be  sympathy  ;  then  you  can  do  anything. 
Only,  the  human  must  keep  just  ahead  of  the 
brute  ;  it  must  feel  and  anticipate,  this  is  all.  You 
must  expect  the  unexpected,  and  keep  in  touch 
upon  the  lines.  Then  you  won't  be  run  away 
with." 

"  Ah,  that  is  true  in  more  than  driving  horses  !  " 

"  Yes  :  in  driving  one's  self.  Self-control  is  a 
grand  thing  ;  it  gives  a  man  a  share  in  the  govern 
ment  of  the  universe."  The  young  man's  head  was 
lifted,  as  he  spoke.  He  was  conscious  of  his  own 
harness  in  the  divine  order  of  things. 

"  But  one  does  n't  always  have  the  reins  in  one's 
own  hands,"  said  Rill. 


THE  MOON  OF  HALLOWEEN.  241 

"  Not  ?     Not  the  very  self-holding  reins  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes  ;  behind  everything,  and,  after  all, 
I  suppose  one  has.  But  one  is  driven,  too ;  and 
the  driving  is  n't  always  sympathetic." 

"  I  think  aunt  Elizabeth  would  insist  that  it 
was.  I  think  she  would  quote  something  about 
being  '  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmities.' 
I  suppose  she  would  say  that  all  driving  not  left  to 
us  is  really  in  such  hands,  Miss  Raye." 

Rill  was  silent ;  he  could  not  know  what  made 
her  so  ;  that  it  was  the  very  stir  in  her  that  made 
her  still. 

"  I  understood  you,  though,"  he  said.  "  I 
could  n't  have  spoken  for  myself,  so  I  had  to 
quote  aunt  Elizabeth.  I  have  been  restive  enough 
with  some  driving ;  and  just  to  see  the  sort  of  com 
pulsion  others  have  been  under  has  infected  me 
with  a  rebellion.  Yet,  after  all,  the  good  words 
are  true,  and  worth  reminding  of.  I  would  like  to 
give  you  the  best,  Miss  Rill." 

"  But  I  have  not  made  you  understand  me,"  Rill 
broke  forth.  "  I  have  been  unfair.  I  was  think 
ing  of  things  that  are  all  past.  I  have  no  right  to 
speak  so  now,  only  —  if  it  could  have  seemed  so 
sooner  —  I  should  have  driven  myself  better.  That 
is  the  real  trouble."  She  spoke  the  last  words 
more  quietly,  and  with  a  smile. 

"  Don't  go  back,  Miss  Rill,  for  any  trouble  ;  we 


242  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

are  in  to-day,"  he  answered  her.  When  he  said 
"  Miss  Rill,"  there  was  a  singular,  gentle  drawing 
near,  with  a  restraint  of  waiting,  in  the  accent ; 
it  seemed  to  tell  her  more  than  she  dared  believe. 
His  word  "  to-day  "  had  a  ring  of  triumph  in  it. 

"Oh,  to-day  has  been  a  beautiful  day!  "  she 
said.  He  had  led  her  back  into  the  joy  of  it. 

"  Yes  ;  I  hope  we  shall  have  more  to-days.  But 
a  man  must  not  look  for  beautiful  days  that  he  has 
not  earned.  To-morrow,  Miss  Rill,  I  begin  my 
earning.  Will  you  wish  me  well  in  it  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  well  in  everything,  Mr.  King." 

"  Some  time  I  may  come  back  and  remind  you 
of  your  saying  that."  He  paused  slightly,  and 
then  went  on.  "  I  shall  be  away  ;  I  shall  not  see 
you  so  often ;  I  shall  be  proving  myself.  It  is 
what  I  must  do,  first  of  all.  I  did  not  mean 
money,  when  I  spoke  of  earning ;  I  have  enough 
of  that  to  make  it  needful  to  assert  myself  in  other 
things.  Aunt  Elizabeth  is  right ;  I  must  begin  a 
man's  life  before  I  can  ask  of  life  what  a  man 
wants.  You  have  only  seen  me  as  a  boy,  Miss 
Raye."  He  withdrew  into  the  distance  of  the 
formal  name.  Truly,  he  had  great  self-control  — 
the  thing  he  had  declared  was  grand  —  this  boy ! 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  as  a  boy  to-day.  You 
have  been  doing  things  —  and  saying  things  — 
that  I  shall  remember  —  shall  thank  you  for, 


THE  MOON  OF  HALLOWEEN.  243 

always,"  Rill  Raye  answered  him  softly,  yet  keep 
ing  safely  and  carefully  to  the  patent  and  acknow 
ledged.  Silence  would  not  have  been  so  safe ;  it 
would  have  seemed  expectant. 

She  did  not  know  what  it  was  she  was  afraid,  or 
tremulously  happy,  to  expect ;  she  knew  it  was  not 
coming  now,  at  once,  and  she  acted  from  the  in 
stinct,  on  her  own  part,  to  help  turn  it  by.  But 
how  different  all  this  was  from  that  other  wood- 
walk,  that  other  "  explanation  ;  "  what  a  nobler 
putting  off !  The  one  put  her  off  —  from  an  in 
ference  he  was  not  ready  yet  to  verify  ;  the  other 
—  this  other  —  put  himself  off  from  some  hope  he 
had  not  earned. 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  give  up  boyishness  ;  I  hope 
nobody  will  give  me  up  because  of  it.  The  man 
liest  man  I  know  —  my  father  —  is  a  boy  at  heart, 
and  openly  at  times,  as  much  as  I  am." 

Rill  did  not  say  of  what  that  reminded  her  in 
stantly,  —  the  little  child  in  the  midst,  who  was  the 
greatest. 

"  One  does  not  care  to  show  one's  deepest, 
always,"  he  went  on.  "  There  are  things  not  to  be 
spoken  of  to  everybody ;  and  only  sometimes  to 
anybody." 

They  were  the  things  he  had  spoken  of  to  her. 
She  had  no  answer  now. 

"  I  do  not  think  we  need  to  be  always  saying 


244  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

them  to  ourselves ;  we  should  wear  them  out  with 
repetitions  :  we  just  know  they  are  there  ;  that  is 
enough  to  build  up  life  on,  anjd  life  will  show. 
You  wish  me  well,  then,  in  my  building  ?  " 

They  had  come  through  into  the  clearer  light. 
They  were  at  the  end  of  the  dim  aisle  of  trees.  He 
stopped,  and  turned  toward  her,  looking  into  her 
face.  He  held  out  his  hand.  She  put  hers  in  it. 
"  I  wish  you  well,"  she  said,  again,  in  her  clear 
voice,  meeting  his  look  with  beautiful,  true  eyes. 

"  I  want  you  to  wish  me  well.  I  want  you  to 
believe  in  me  —  as  I  believe  in  you,"  he  said. 

They  were  near  the  cottage  now  ;  the  forest  path 
came  out  close  to  Brook  Lane.  He  crossed  with 
her,  and  saw  her  to  her  door ;  he  stood  upon  the 
threshold,  and  Miss  Bonable  came  forth  and  met 
them.  He  had  a  frank,  courteous  word  for  her  ; 
then  he  said  a  simple  good-night  to  both,  and  went 
away,  notwithstanding  that  auut  Amelia  invited 
him  to  come  in  to  tea. 

"  Another  time,  if  you  ask  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
charming  deference. 

"  That  's  a  clever  young  man,"  remarked  Miss 
Bonable,  following  Rill  in.  "  Pie  comes  to  the  door. 
T  like  people  that  come  to  the  door  and  don't  stay 
behind  the  fences.  He  speaks  up,  and  he  's  got 
behavior." 

Kill  ran  up  to  her  room  ;  there  was  a  window  to 


THE  MOON  OF  HALLOWEEN.  245 

the  east,  and  Brook  Lane  ran  eastward.  She  saw 
Mr.  King  walking  down  between  the  trees.  The 
twilight  was  yet  golden  about  him  ;  he  was  going 
to  his  work  in  the  world,  lie  had  left  her  here, 
where  her  work  was,  but  it  was  light  here  also. 

She  went  down,  without  selfish  lingering.  Miss 
Bonable  was  waiting  for  her  tea.  She  told  to  her 
and  Mrs.  Rospey  the  happy  story  of  her  day  ;  all 
but  the  happy,  hidden,  intangible  heart  of  it  that 
it  was  not  possible  to  utter.  She  ate  muffins  and 
sweet  apple  and  cream ;  she  helped  Clementhy 
clear  away  afterward,  and  she  washed  carefully  the 
delicate  old  spoons  and  the  china  cups  and  the 
pictured  India  plates  ;  she  put  all  by,  and  then  she 
sat  and  read  the  evening  paper  to  aunt  Amelia. 
When  she  had  done  all  this  —  it  was  scarcely  more 
than  an  hour's  work,  but  it  had  a  blessed  lifetime 
in  it  —  she  went  with  Miss  Bonable  to  her  bed 
room,  and  arranged  her  for  the  night.  After  the 
tired  head  was  upon  the  pillow  that  she  placed  pre 
cisely  for  completest  rest,  she  leaned  down  and 
kissed  the  lips  that  had  been  so  often  harsh  with 
hard  rebuke.  "  Good  -  night,"  she  said.  Good 
night  was  in  her  heart  for  all  the  world. 

"  Good-night,  Rill;  you  've  fixed  me  very  nice  ; 
I  'in  glad  you  've  had  your  treat." 

That  was  much  for  aunt  Amelia  to  have  said, 
and  she  had  called  her  "  Rill."  A  stiff  "  Cy-rilla  " 


246  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

or  "  Rill  Raye,"  with  objurgative  emphasis  upon 
the  surname,  were  what  the  girl  had  been  mostly 
used  to  from  her ;  but  aunt  Amelia  had  grown  dif 
ferent  ;  everything  had  grown  different  now. 

Rill  went  again  into  her  own  little  east  room, 
away  into  her  own  new  world. 

"  As  I  believe  in  you." 

That  word  set  her  free  of  her  old,  hard  past ; 
it  put  her  011  probation  for  a  strange,  vague,  beau 
tiful  future.  That  it  was  vague,  that  nothing  was 
clear  and  promised,  she  was  glad  ;  she  would  not 
have  had  it  put  before  her  as  a  certainty,  for  all 
the  world.  She  had  not  "  earned  "  it  yet.  She, 
too,  must  earn  something.  She  must  earn  his 
faith.  She  must  earn  —  whatever  he  might  tell 
her  by  and  by. 

A  great,  calm  moon  came  climbing  up  the  sky. 
It  poured  its  light  round  her,  wrapping  her  in  its 
white  veil.  She  sat  there  in  a  wonderful,  shining 
peace.  It  was  the  moon  of  Halloween. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

FINE   WINTRY    COLD. 

DURING  the  weeks  that  followed,  Miss  Bonable 
rapidly  resumed  the  vigor  and  the  habits  of  her 
life.  She  was  about  the  domicile  everywhere, 
searching  into  its  needs  of  housewifery  that  had 
accumulated  from  delay,  and  setting  herself  and 
Clementhy  Pond  and  Cyrilla  unmitigatingly  to 
work ;  and  Rill  surprised  her  aunt  with  the  genuine 
readiness  of  her  participation  and  help. 

It  was  not  mere  conscientious  obedience  to  an 
other's  will ;  it  was  putting  her  own  will  to  it  with 
a  pleasure.  All  the  secret  Miss  Bonable  could 
not  know  :  the  rousing,  with  a  woman's  hope,  of 
all  the  true  practical  woman's  instinct.  But  she 
began  to  be  glad  in  the  child,  with  a  tremulous 
joy,  like  that  of  one  new-born  in  spiritual  things. 
If  it  would  only  last ! 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  it  was  Heaven  all  at 
once  at  Brook  Lane  cottage,  any  more  than  it  is 
with  the  hopeful  convert.  The  old  peremptoriness 
of  character  would  now  and  then  assert  itself. 


248  A  GOLDEN  GOS8IP. 

Cyrilla  could  not,  on  her  part,  spring  at  once  to 
f nil-grown  thrift  and  judgment  ;  there  were  lapses, 
even  of  industry,  and  consequent  little  jars  ;  but 
there  was  a  new  atmosphere  in  which  the  tendency 
was  not  to  storm,  but  to  placid  weather. 

Abroad,  something  of  a  social  life  began  again, 
and  with  more  freedom  for  Rill.  When  the  second 
invitation  came  to  visit  Mrs.  Kextell,  aunt  Amelia 
said :  "  You  go,  Rill ;  it 's  more  for  you  than 
me,  though  they  're  polite,  and  I  appreciate  it.  I 
ain't  up  to  evenings  out,  yet ;  and  I  'm  bright 
enough  to  know  I  ain't  quite  up  to  the  Rextells 
any  way.  I  'm  only  glad  the  real  stuff  is  in  them 
to  find  out  real  stuff  in  other  people.  You  go  ; 
it  '11  do  you  good." 

Clementhy  was  scrupulously  dispatched  at  the 
close  of  these  evenings  to  accompany  Rill  home. 
Mrs.  Rextell  would  have  provided  for  that ;  but 
Miss  Bonable  was  persistent.  "  If  one  friend  sees 
her  home,  another  may ;  it 's  best  to  understand, 
as  a  rule,  that  it's  to  be  Clementhy."  Mrs.  Rex- 
tell  perceived  and  approved. 

Rill  was  growing  into  one  of  those  friendships 
which  lift  a  girl  up,  in  certain  peculiar  feminine 
ways,  even  more  than  the  larger,  separate  feminine 
experience.  They  bring  into  a  higher  womanly 
form  the  things  that  may,  as  yet,  have  been  crude 
in  her,  though  fair  and  noble.  They  help  her  to 


FINE   WINTRY  COLD.  249 

realize  that  which  she  would  fain  be,  before  the 
asking  comes  to  which  she  would  give  the  best  of 
her  possible  attaining.  She  trims  her  lamp  in  the 
sweet  company  of  the  other  wise  virgins,  that  when 
the  bridegroom  calls  she  may  have  it  burning. 

There  was  something  reverential  in  Kill's  regard 
for  Margaret  Rextell ;  the  kind  of  worship  which 
differs  from  external  or  circumstantial  admiration, 
in  that  it  is  a  spiritual  discernment  which  perhaps 
only  a  woman,  perhaps  only  a  girl,  and  she  for  one 
of  her  own  sex,  can  feel.  It  is  angel-worship.  I  do 
not  mean  adoration  ;  that  is  only  for  the  Highest ; 
but  from  rank  to  rank,  through  spiritual  degrees, 
up  to  the  archangels,  the  seven  spirits  round  the 
throne,  the  joy  of  worth-ship  goes  up  and  up,  lift 
ing  those  who  are  capable,  and  through  a  divine  fel 
lowship  ranging  them  to  higher  and  higher  plane 
and  place,  even  beforehand.  It  is  the  golden  stair ; 
and  they  who  reach  down  loving,  holy  hands  are 
they  who  sit  on  the  thrones,  under  their  Lord, 
adjudging,  in  their  order,  the  tribes  of  the  blessed 
Israel. 

Hill  went  also  to  Connie  Norris's.  She  would 
not  desert  old  friendship ;  if  good  came  to  her  from 
farther  up,  why  should  she  not  share  it,  if  she 
could,  with  one  not  yet  quite  high  enough  to  hunger 
for  it?  What  had  made  herself  to  hunger,  save 
the  bringing  near  to  her  of  what  should  feed  her 


250  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

best  ?  She  hardly  thought  of  it  so  —  she  certainly 
did  not  assume  a  mission  —  but  she  came  among 
them  with  a  difference  ;  she  brought  a  new  air,  not 
of  affectation,  but  a  simple  breath  of  life,  a  gracious 
contagion  of  wholesomeness. 

Connie  asked  her,  and  made  much  of  her,  not 
for  the  gift  of  healing,  but  because  she  could  so 
command  other  presence  that  she  wanted.  Dr. 
Harriman  would  come  when  Cyrilla  could  be  met ; 
Connie  had  found  out  that,  and  acknowledged  it  to 
herself.  She  had  acuteness  to  perceive  that  her 
own  old  flirtation  was  over  ;  but  she  did  not  want 
all  the  world  to  see  it,  and  suddenly.  She  meant 
to  keep  up  a  light  social  intimacy,  an  apparent 
power  that  need  not  be  too  obviously  defined,  until 
she  herself  might  seem  deliberately  to  have  made 
up  her  own  mind  and  choice. 

It  was  at  Connie  Norris's,  one  evening,  that  a  lit 
tle  talk  arose  which  Rill  had  after-reason  to  remem 
ber.  I  say,  "  Connie  Norris's"  without  reference  to 
the  elders  of  the  family,  or  any  literal  house  owner 
ship  or  authority,  because  for  social  purposes,  and 
at  Connie's  time  and  pleasure,  it  was  not  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Norris's  house  at  all.  According  to  the  charm 
ing  construction  of  things  in  certain  spheres  of 
modern  life,  the  parents  were,  upon  such  occasions, 
nowhere  ;  nowhere  being,  more  strictly  speaking,  a 
little  back  hall-parlor  devoted  to  newspapers,  cigars, 
the  mending-basket  and  the  cribbage-board. 


FINE  WINTRY  COLD.  251 

Connie  and  her  set  were  planning  some  regular 
winter  sociables  for  dancing  and  theatricals  ;  they 
were  to  be  held  at  the  village  assembly  rooms  ;  and 
were  to  be  made  the  events,  the  counting-points, 
of  the  season  for  Wewachet.  "  You  will  join,  of 
course,"  they  said  to  Dr.  Harriman. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be  happy  to  have  the  privi 
lege."  the  doctor  answered.  "  But  practically,  I 
cannot  take  part  in  them  at  first.  I  expect  to  be 
in  Canada,  with  my  sister,  for  a  while." 

"  And  leave  us  all  wailing  —  and  gnashing  our 
teeth !  "  said  the  irrepressible  Connie,  not  very  nice 
about  a  joke. 

"  I  hope  not.  I  hope  you  can  spare  me,  both 
socially  and  professionally,  for  the  few  weeks  I  may 
be  away." 

"  Where  does  Mrs.  Stanesby  live  ?  " 

"  In  Ottawa." 

"  Oh,  you  will  see  everything  !  Princess  Louise 
— no,  Lady  Somebody,  now,  is n  't  it?  Who  is  the 
Governess-General  ?  You  '11  be  there  for  the  car 
nival  ?  " 

"  You  mean  Lady  Macdonald,"  said  Dr.  Harri 
man,  supplying  the  point  immediately  desired  to 
this  very  vague  acquaintance  with  Canadian  cur 
rent  history  and  dignities.  "  Doubtless,  I  shall  see 
Sir  John  and  herself  in  public.  I  do  not  expect 
to  visit  at  Earnscliffe.  As  to  the  carnival,  that 


252  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

comes  later,  I  think.  But  there  is  always  winter 
pleasure,  —  sledging,  tobogganing.  One  is  sure  of 
those  things." 

"  You  '11  go  tobogganing  at  Rideau !  They  say 
that  is  so  perfectly  gorgeous !  Winter  must  be 
fine  in  Canada.  I  think  I  should  respect  it  there ; 
it  means  something,  and  holds  to  its  intention.  You 
know  what  to  reckon  on.  Our  climate  is  simply 
exasperating.  The  cold  snaps  are  vicious,  and  the 
thaws  are  weakly  contemptible." 

"  It  is  of  an  uncertain  temper,  truly ;  and  per 
haps  one  can  bear  steady  cold  better  than  freakish 
alternations.  But  I  cannot  bear  it  always.  I  am 
feeble  enough  to  be  glad  of  a  thaw  now  and  then, 
just  for  consolation.  If  one  can  only  be  reminded 
that  a  real  balminess  may  come  some  time,  one 
can  wait." 

Dr.  Harriman  was  dividing  counters  for  a  new 
round  game,  as  he  spoke.  He  placed  a  little  heap 
before  Rill  Raye,  next  whom  he  had  secured  a  seat. 
He  leaned  a  little  toward  her,  so  doing,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  his  words,  in  that  movement,  fell  espe 
cially  to  her.  But  she  took  no  notice  at  all.  She 
picked  up  her  counters,  one  by  one,  carefully 
verifying  their  number,  and  presently  the  game 
went  on. 

There  was  a  prize  to  be  contested  for,  and  cer 
tain  conditions,  at  each  deal,  put  one  player  out. 


FIXE   WINTEY  COLD.  253 

It  was  narrowed  clown  at  last  to  Dr.  Harriman  and 
Cyrilla.  So  long  as  she  held  cards,  he  played  his 
best ;  if  she  had  failed,  he  would  have  "  died,"  I 
believe,  at  the  next  hand.  It  turned  out  as  he  had 
hoped  ;  they  were  left  to  finish  the  game  against 
each  other. 

Dr. .  Harriman  dealt.  A  winning  card  came 
into  Rill's  hand.  She  laid  the  whole  before  him, 
face  up,  upon  the  table,  seeming  to  decide  the  re 
sult.  There  was  a  little  shout.  "  Rill  has  won !  " 
they  said.  "  Give  it  to  her,  Dr.  Harriman." 

That  was  what  he  had  played  for.  It  was  a 
pretty  bangle.  "  May  I  put  it  on  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  is  not  mine  at  all,"  Rill  said,  quietly,  and 
rose  up  from  her  seat.  "  That  was  your  card,  Dr. 
Harriman.  You  misdealt  it." 

He  knew  what  she  meant,  though  it  had  not 
been  a  misdeal,  in  count.  He  had  more  skill  than 
that.  It  was  awkward  ;  what  could  he  do  with  the 
thing,  if  Rill  would  not  take  it?  And  Rill,  with 
no  least  emphasis  of  manner,  had  moved  just  far 
enough  away  to  be  out  of  the  scene.  She  was 
speaking  now,  very  simply,  to  Sue  Wilder. 

"  You  will  have  to  keep  it  yourself,  Miss  Con 
nie,"  Dr.  Harriman  said,  holding  it  out  to  the 
hostess. 

"  I  will  not  be  fettered,  either,"  replied  Connie, 
laughing,  and  tossing  her  hands  behind  her,  though 


254  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

he  had  not  asked  to  put  it  on.  "  We  will  try  for 
it  another  time.  It  is  great  fun,"  she  added.  The 
doctor  bowed  with  a  profound  gravity,  and  laid  the 
trinket  on  the  table. 

"  Even  a  Canadian  winter  has  its  spring,  Miss 
Raye.  Do  you  always  mean  to  be  like  this  ?  " 

It  was  Dr.  Harriman,  who  met  and  stopped  her 
half  way  on  the  staircase,  hat  in  hand.  She  was 
coming  down  to  Clementhy,  who  waited  for  her 
at  the  door. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Rill.  "I  mean,"  she 
went  on  with  a  resolve,  and  her  smile  was  like  the 
sun  on  crystal  —  "I  mean  to  be  always  pleasant,  if 
I  can.  But  I  must  be  clear  and  true." 

"  And  icy  cold,"  said  Dr.  Harriman. 

"  I  am  very  warm  —  in  my  friendships,  Dr.  Har 
riman,"  the  girl  returned. 

"  Then  be  friends  with  me !  It  is  all  I  ask  for 
—  now." 

"  You  need  not  ask  it.  We  are  not  unfriends. 
Good-night.  I  must  go  down." 

"  May  I  walk  to  the  cottage  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you.  I  have  Clementhy.  Aunt  Ame 
lia  sends  her  because  she  prefers  it.  Good-night." 
She  held  out  her  hand,  reaching  it  from  under  the 
warm,  light  white  wrap  that  folded  her  head  and 
shoulders  like  a  wreath  of  snow. 

"  I  told  you  I  could  not  bear  continued  freez- 


FINE   WINTRY  COLD.  255 

ing !  "  said  the  doctor,  in  an  emphatic  undertone, 
as  he  caught  the  hand  in  his  with  a  significant 
strength,  and  turned  with  her  upon  the  stairs.  She 
released  it  with  as  much  decision. 

"  Then  you  should  not  go  to  Canada,"  she  an 
swered,  lightly. 

"  I  would  go  to  —  everlasting  flames  —  for  you ! ' 
he  muttered,  looking  after  her  as  she  vanished  out 
upon  the  porch. 

But  he  could  not  stand  there,  upon  the  staircase. 
He  turned  his  hat  in  his  hand,  looking  into  it  as  if 
to  make  certain  of  his  own,  and  then  went  down, 
as  feet  and  voices  came  hurrying  along  behind  him. 

Putnam  King  was  wise  and  brave  ;  he  stayed 
away  from  Wewachet.  He  meant  to  come  once  in 
a  while,  but  not  now.  He  was  in  earnest  to  work ; 
to  prove  himself  ;  to  make  this  very  first  winter  de 
clare  something.  Then,  perhaps  —  But,  mean 
while,  he  would  not  seek  to  advance  his  claim  with 
Rill,  and  he  certainly  would  not  himself  occupy,  or 
place  her  in,  an  equivocal  position. 

So  the  weeks  went  by,  on  into  December.  Miss 
Haven  went  into  town,  to  stay  during  the  busy 
ante-Christmas  with  the  Rextells.  She  had  all  her 
buying  and  putting  up  to  do  for  the  beautiful  Noel- 
tide  giving. 

She  did  not  give  quite  like  other  people.  It  was 
her  entertaining-time,  she  said  ;  she  gave  no  par- 


256  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

ties,  she  made  no  festivals  ;  so  she  remembered, 
and  complimented,  and  bestowed,  now.  Her 
equals,  and  those  better  off,  in  worldly  goods,  she 
complimented  ;  she  sent  dainty  little  remembrances, 
which  cost  no  great  deal  and  were  easily  dis 
patched  :  to  the  poor  she  gave  substantially,  and 
in  conscientiously  large  proportion ;  but  it  was  to 
a  certain  sort  —  not  always  most  judiciously  or 
carefully  or  generously  considered  —  that  she  gave 
with  most  thought  and  distinction. 

People  who  could  not  be  "  besto*wed  upon  "  at 
other  times  ;  to  venture  just  the  right  thing  with 
whom,  for  their  delight  or  want,  only  Christmas 
gave  gracious  opportunity  ;  it  was  to  them  that  the 
most  ingeniously  adapted  gifts  went  with  the  nicest 
detail,  and  the  keenest  pleasure  in  the  formal  ar 
rangement.  Exquisitely  tied-up  boxes,  whose  very 
tint  was  a  harmony  with  their  contents ;  quaint 
and  curious  baskets ;  cases  of  permanent  use  and 
value  and  ornament,  —  these  were  the  outside  ; 
within,  the  happy  recipients  found  things  each  had 
been  doing  without  and  secretly  longing  for,  — 
beautiful  pictures  ;  soft,  rich  rugs  ;  a  whole  set  of 
books  by  some  beloved  author ;  a  shawl ;  a  bit  of 
delicate  household  adorning ;  perhaps,  for  an  in 
valid,  some  express  furnishing  or  contrivance  for 
special  comfort,  or  material  for  pleasant  work ; 
novelty  of  patterns,  bundles  of  wools  and  silks  and 


FINE   WINTRY  COLD.  257 

plushes  ;  perhaps,  to  some  young  girl,  a  pretty 
gown  even,  with  blessed  privilege  of  "  Chryst- 
messe  "  freedom ;  whatever  the  year  had  brought 
to  her  watchful  knowledge  as  the  thing  best  suited, 
most  likely  to  be  welcomed  with  a  joy.  And  all 
this  took  time,  and  much  work,  beforehand.  So 
she  and  the  Rextells,  grown  toward  each  other  in 
their  heart-regard  and  common  purposes,  were  to 
gether  in  the  city  for  this  loveliest  of  carnivals,  — 
these  holy  days  before  the  calendar  holiday. 

And  Rill  was  left,  just  now  —  as  to  her  most 
real  companionships  —  a  good  deal  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

TWO    LETTERS. 

DR.  HARRIMAN  had  bided  his  time.  He  had 
fully  resolved  what  next  to  do,  but  he  would  choose 
his  opportunity.  It  had  come  now,  when  appar 
ently  there  was  a  temporary  end  to  interfering,  su 
perseding  things.  A  pause  and  gap  which  might 
show  to  Cyrilla  Raye,  as  it  showed  to  his  own  lim 
ited  and  mistaken  discernment,  that  nothing  was 
very  permanent  to  her  here,  of  interest  and  connec 
tion  with  people  whose  prior  places  and  claims  were 
elsewhere.  He  thought  he  divined  astutely.  He 
wrote  her  a  letter. 

Cyrilla  took  it  from  the  office  one  day  with  other 
matters  for  her  aunt.  The  first  glance  at  the  hand 
writing  startled  her.  It  was  one  she  did  not  know  ; 
a  fine  manly  chirography.  Could  it  be  ?  — 

But  the  blue  stamp  in  the  corner  rebuked  her 
hasty  foolishness.  It  was  a  local  drop-letter.  She 
put  it  in  her  pocket  with  a  crumple,  blushing  furi 
ously  all  to  herself  for  her  own  half  thought,  and 
at  the  other  perchance  which  obtruded  itself,  in  a 


TWO  LETTERS.  259 

vexation  both  subjective  and  objective.  She  had 
got  to  read  it,  she  supposed. 

At  home,  and  in  her  own  room,  she  drew  it  forth, 
reluctantly. 

"My  dear  Miss  Raye,"  it  began.  "I  can  no 
longer  bear  your  misunderstanding  of  me.  I  must 
at  least  beg  your  fairer  judgment,  before  I  dare 
ask  anything  beyond.  I  did  neither  you  nor  my 
self  justice  when  I  talked  with  you  that  day  at 
Shepaug.  I  should  have  said  more  or  less.  That 
I  said  anything  was  —  you  must  surely  perceive  — 
because  there  was  growing  so  much  to  be  said  that 
some  time  I  should  inevitably  speak.  It  has  been 
growing  ever  since,  through  all  your  coldness  and 
avoidance.  I  love  you.  I  loved  you  then,  and 
therefore  I  told  you  of  my  life.  I  wished  you  to 
know  what  lay  in  my  way,  and  that  it  was  in  the 
way  of  that  which  I  most  dearly  wished.  If  I  had 
asked  you  that  day  to  wait  with  me  —  for  me  — 
would  you  have  waited  ?  I  ask  you  now.  I  be 
seech  it  of  you  with  all  my  heart.  I  desire,  I  need 
you,  as  I  need  my  soul's  salvation.  Life  holds  no 
thing  else  for  me  that  I  can  work  or  wait  for.  If 
you  can  quite  forgive  me,  — if  you  can  say  to  me 
some  little  word  of  hope,  —  write  me  the  briefest 
answer,  and  I  will  be  very  glad  and  grateful.  But 
do  not  write  me  '  No.'  Do  not  put  that  in  irrevo 
cable  black  and  white.  If  you  hesitate,  if  you  even 


260  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

mean  refusal,  now,  keep  it  back,  and  leave  me  with 
such  hope  as  I  had  before.  I  will  presume  upon 
nothing ;  but  I  will  never  cease  to  endeavor  to  de 
serve  and  win  you.  ROBERT  HARRIMAN." 

This  was  explicit  enough.  This  was  ardent 
enough.  It  was  terrible  enough  to  a  young  girl 
who  had  never  had  such  a  letter  written  to  her 
before  ;  never  heard  such  words  of  eager  desire 
spoken  ;  never  dreamed  what  they  could  be. 

Had  she  drawn  it  upon  herself  ?  Had  there 
been  what  might  seem  "  tactics,"  as  Connie  Norris 
had  accused  her?  Had  it  been  as  if  she  would 
have  all  this  or  nothing  ?  And  how  could  she 
answer  the  "  No,"  that  he  begged  her  not  to  write  ? 
Must  she  not  write,  and  say  how  impossible  it  was  ? 
Could  she  encourage,  even  by  that  silence  which 
was  a  mere  withholding  of  the  "  no  "  ? 

And  yet,  what  should  she  say  to  him  ?  What 
was  it  that  made  the  impossibility  so  positive, — 
the  thing  he  was  so  willing  to  wait  for,  so  certainly 
nowhere  in  the  farthest  future  ever  to  be  ready 
for  him? 

All  these  questions  rushed  upon  her.  They  sent 
the  blood  in  quick  leaps  of  affright  and  shame  and 
resistance  to  her  face  and  her  fingers'  ends ;  then 
they  caught  it  back  again  to  her  heart,  as  she  sat 
pale,  quiet,  only  conscious  of  one  thing,  that  the 
answer,  now  or  ever,  was  "  No  "  —  almost  fiercely, 
"No!  No!" 


TWO  LETTERS.  261 

Miss  Bonable's  mail  had  included  that  big  en 
velope  which  came  to  her  twice  a  year  through  the 
hands  of  her  Boston  broker  ;  that  important  pack 
age  which  she  always  received  silently,  safely  locked 
away,  and  in  consequence  of  which  made  very 
shortly  afterwards  her  long  day's  visit  to  the  city. 

She  came,  from  the  examination  and  careful  be 
stowal  of  this,  into  Kill's  room.  Rill  sat  still  with 
the  letter  on  her  lap.  She  had  thrust  it  back  into 
the  envelope.  She  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it. 
She  wished  it  would  disappear,  that  she  might  not 
have  to  touch  it  again,  to  dispose  of  it  in  any  way. 

"  Who  is  your  letter  from,  Cyrilla  ?  "  demanded 
her  aunt,  very  naturally,  since  Cyrilla  did  not  get 
a  great  many  letters. 

The  girl  looked  up  bravely.  "  It  is  a  note  from 
Dr.  Harriman,  aunt  Amelia,"  she  said. 

"  Him  ?  What  does  he  write  notes  for  ?  What 
does  he  want  ?  Are  you  going  to  answer  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  it  quite  requires  an  answer.  It 
was  to  tell  me  something.  Besides,"  she  added, 
"  he  is  going  away.  No,  I  shall  not  write  to  him." 

"  I  should  hope  not.  I  have  n't  any  opinion  of 
Dr.  Harriman,  —  not  any  at  all !  " 

Cyrilla  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  positive- 
ness  of  the  negation.  "  It  seems  to  me  you  have, 
auntie,"  she  said.  "  And  I  don't  think  you  are 
quite  fair  to  him.  He  is  a  gentleman." 


262  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  May  be.  There  are  different  sorts.  He  ain't 
my  sort,  and  he  knows  it.  I  should  like  to  know 
what  he  says  to  you  that  you  don't  mean  to  answer." 

"  If  I  did,  auntie,  I  would  tell  you  all  about  it. 
Where  were  your  letters  from  ?  " 

She  spoke,  not  with  the  old,  cool  defiance,  but 
with  a  frank,  sweet  assertion  of  her  independence. 
Composure  had  returned  to  her,  with  the  diversion 
to  her  aunt  of  immediate  consideration  ;  putting  by, 
and  determining  in  the  instant  of  reply  to  her,  all 
question  of  what  to  do  as  to  Dr.  Harriman.  In 
what  she  could  but  say  to  Miss  Bonable's  catechis 
ing,  she  had  answered  herself. 

"  I  don't  know  as  it 's  your  place  to  inquire," 
Miss  Bonable  said  to  the  counter  question,  with  her 
old  curtness. 

Rill  had  not  thought  of  retort,  or  intrusion ;  she 
had  simply  changed  the  subject.  Miss  Bonable 
walked  out  of  the  room  with  her  chin  up. 

"  Now  I  have  offended  her,"  said  Rill  to  herself, 
"  and  I  am  sure  I  did  not  mean  to."  Neverthe 
less,  the  little  side  issue  had  been  a  relief. 

Two  days  after,  Miss  Bonable  went  to  town,  for 
the  first  time  in  nearly  three  months.  She  had  a 
good  deal  to  do  ;  there  were  the  safety  vaiilt,  and 
the  bank,  and  the  broker,  to  be  visited ;  there 
would  have  to  be  a  long  talk  about  investments, 
and  a  settling  of  the  fresh  commissions  ;  then  she 


TWO  LETTERS.  263 

would  cro  to  her  old  friend  who  lived  in  rooms  in 

O 

Grackle  Place,  and  lunch  and  rest  with  her ;  it 
would  be  late,  as  usual,  when  she  would  return. 

At  the  station,  she  caught  sight  of  Dr.  Harri- 
man.  He  came  in  with  Colonel  Sholto. 

"  So  you  are  off  to  Canada,  I  hear  ?  "  she  heard 
the  colonel  say  ;  and  Dr.  Harriman  answer,  "  Not 
to-day ;  to-morrow,  possibly." 

She  simply  thought,  in  the  same  style  that  she 
might  have  spoken,  —  "  Humph  !  A  good  riddance 
enough.  Should  n't  care  if  he  would  go  to  Jeru 
salem,  and  stay  there  !  " 

Why  she  so  intensely  disliked  Dr.  Harriman  she 
scarcely  could  have  told ;  but  she  was  to  remember 
those  two  chance  sentences ;  they  were  to  have 
more  significance  for  her  to-morrow. 

Rill  had  the  day  before  her  ;  so  had  Clementhy 
Pond.  For  dinner,  Rill  would  find  her  own  lunch  ; 
she  always  did  when  Miss  Bonable  was  away.  The 
pantry  held  plenty  ;  there  was  always  rich,  sweet 
milk ;  Rill  liked  to  take  a  little  tray  of  her  own 
arranging  to  her  room,  and  sit  down  with  it,  and  a 
book  beside  her.  She  was  one  of  those  persons 
who  recognize  by  an  instinct  of  special  comfort, 
how  we  are  fed  in  more  ways  than  one,  and  how 
pleasantly  mental  and  bodily  hunger  may  be  ap 
peased  together. 

Miss  Pond  was   secluded  in  her  bedroom  over 


264  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

the  kitchen.  She  was  "  hooking  "  a  rug  ;  this  long 
day  of  liberty  was  a  treat  to  her.  She  was  cutting 
up  long  strips  of  bright  yellow  flannel,  and  snip 
ping  them  off  in  little  rectangles,  into  a  basket. 
She  was  going  to  work  a  huge  sunflower  into  her 
pattern.  She  had  never  heard  of  Oscar  Wilde  ; 
she  knew  nothing  of  the  prescriptions  of  aesthetics ; 
it  was  her  own  inspiration. 

Miss  Bonable  had  gone  early.  An  hour  or  two 
later  one  of  the  depot  drivers,  coining  up  for  Mrs. 
Rospey,  had  stopped  at  the  cottage  with  letters 
from  the  morning  mail.  One,  this  time,  for  Cle- 
menthy  Pond,  and  another,  again,  for  Cyrilla. 
With  Clementhy's  we  have  no  interest,  save  that 
it  helped  to  keep  her  yet  more  strictly  immured 
and  occupied,  and  that  Cyrilla  was  left  yet  more 
entirely  to  what  the  day  might  be  to  her. 

It  was  a  queer  little  letter  that  had  come  to  her. 
She  turned  it  over  with  a  puzzled  surprise,  before 
she  opened  it.  There  was  a  yellow,  queen's-head 
postage-stamp,  to  begin  with  ;  it  had  started  from 
the  British  Dominion,  somewhere ;  then  it  had 
traveled,  blunderingly,  hither  and  yon,  about  the 
United  States,  for  a  month  at  least,  by  various 
dates.  It  was  scrawled  all  over  with  strange 
names.  It  had  been  to  two  or  three  Newmarkets 
—  one  away  in  Missouri ;  to  a  Menasket,  a  Winis- 
kit,  a  Nonatick  ;  it  had  "try"  this,  that  and  the 


TWO  LETTERS.  265 

other  in  red  and  black  and  blue  crossings.  At 
last  it  had  come  to  Wewachet,  and  Rill's  hands. 

She  broke  it  open.  Like  some  explosion  from 
an  infernal  machine,  the  thing  she  read  in  it  shat 
tered  her  whole  life  as  she  had  known  it.  Rent, 
blasted,  the  circumstance  that  had  been  about  her, 
all  fact  that  she  had  believed  of  herself  was  torn 
from  its  foundations  and  sent  hurling1  over  her 
head.  Before  her  lay  a  chasm.  Behind  her  was 
impassable  wreck  and  barrier.  Nothing  could  be 
as  it  had  been,  ever  again.  Instead,  what  should 
be  ?  At  first,  in  her  confusion,  she  could  hardly 
think. 

With  all  her  difficult  peculiarity,  she  had  always 
thought  Miss  Bonable  a  just  woman.  But  what 
terrible  injustice  was  this  that  she  had  done  ? 
How  had  she  hidden  truth  and  separated  lives  ? 

One  thing  cleared  itself  from  the  chaos  of  her 
thought,  —  she  could  not  stay  here  ;  she  could  not 
confront  aunt  Amelia  with  this,  or  ask  of  her.  How 
could  she  believe  anything  that  she  might  choose 
to  say  about  it  ?  Aunt  Amelia  had  kept  Rill's 
whole  real  life  from  her  all  these  years.  She  could 
not  even  bear  to  see  her  again.  And,  another 
thing,  she  must  go  to  the  writer  of  this  letter.  For 
the  writer  was  her  mother. 

She  was  poor ;  she  was  ill ;  she  was  in  a  little 
"  House  of  Mercy  "  hospital  in  Montreal,  —  "  Mai- 


266  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

son  de  Sainte  Esperance."  She  had  had  years  of 
trouble  and  struggle ;  she  had  been  alone ;  she  had 
no  friends.  She  would  not  say  she  had  been  wise, 
or  good,  herself ;  she  had  been  very  foolish  and 
wrong.  But  they  had  never  trusted  her.  If  they 
had  —  if  she  had  been  happy  —  if  it  had  not  been 
for  Miss  Bonable  —  "  Amelia,  your  aunt,"  the  let 
ter  said  —  it  might  have  been  all  different ;  she 
might  have  stayed  ;  she  might  have  had  the  care 
and  comfort  of  her  little  child.  She  had  been  so 
young.  But  they  had  never  made  allowance  ;  they 
had  never  had  patience.  They  had  driven  her  off  ; 
they  had  taken  away  her  little  child.  Amelia  had 
hated  her.  She  had  watched  and  suspected  her, 
always.  She  had  loved  Rill's  father,  who  had  gone 
away  to  the  other  end  of  the  world.  He  was  a  rich 
man,  now  ;  he  was  sending  home  money,  she  was 
sure,  to  this  child  that  Amelia  had  got  from  her  ; 
Amelia  had  got  everything.  But  now  the  child 
was  grown,  was  a  woman  ;  she  could  choose  ;  she 
might  at  least  come  to  her  mother,  who  could  not 
come  to  her  ;  she  might  let  her  tell  her  story,  which 
had  been  kept  back,  or,  may  be,  told  wrong ;  she 
might  let  her  see  the  little  girl  that  she  had  lost  so 
long. 

And  there  the  letter  ended.  It  asked  nothing 
but  that  Rill  should  come.  But  beyond  that,  there 
was  a  claim,  a  care.  There  was  money.  Rill  could 


TWO  LETTERS.  267 

do  for  her  what  she  pleased,  if  this  were  true. 
That  was  all  left  unsaid  ;  nothing  had  ever  been 
said  till  now,  in  this  sore  need  and  longing. 

Rill  could  not  know  how  that  had  been  ;  that  in 
this  little  way-off  hospital,  to  the  woman  lying  there, 
dependent,  after  all  her  life  of  selfishness  and  error, 
upon  the  ministry  of  these  good  Gray  Sisters,  had 
come,  by  chance,  among  miscellaneous  reading  for 
the  inmates,  an  Australian  newspaper  ;  that  in  it 
had  been  mention  of  some  new  great  enterprise,  in 
which  leading  men  at  Adelaide  were  engaged  ;  fore 
most  among  them  "  the  well-known  house  of  Raye 
&  McLeod ; "  with  personal  tribute  to  Marcus 
Raye,  Esq.,  the  head  of  the  firm,  and  president  of 
the  new  corporation. 

Yes,  there  was  undoubtedly  money  ;  she  knew 
Marcus  Raye  would  not  neglect  to  provide  gener 
ously  for  his  child  ;  and  his  child  was  hers.  Ilinc 
illce  lacrimce  ;  hence  this  pull  upon  the  old  chord 
of  mother-love  and  yearning  that  had  been  slack 
and  un  thrilled  so  long. 

To  Cyrilla,  it  was  like  a  word  out  of  another  ex 
istence,  one  that  she  had  died  from  and  missed 
knowledge  of.  However  she  was  to  find  her,  what 
ever  she  was  to  learn  of  her,  she  must  go  to  her 
mother.  Undoubtedly,  in  this  she  was  still  Cy 
rilla;  the  rash,  wild  impulsiveness  of  her  nature 
was  asserting  itself ;  she  would  be  doing  but  a 


2G8  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

half -judged  thing.  But  who  was  there  to  help 
her? 

Miss  Haven  ?  If  she  had  been  right  there  — 
but  in  this  convulsion,  this  cataclysm  of  her  life, 
how  was  she  to  go  to  her?  All  things  were  chan 
ging  for  her  ;  all  things  were  thrown  into  a  whirl 
and  seethe  from  which  nothing  could  come  out  as 
it  had  been.  How  was  she  to  go  with  this  to  the 
aunt  of  Putnam  King  ?  The  most  beautiful  force 
that  had  entered  into  the  world  of  her  experience 
was  now  impelling  her  away ;  away  from  all  that 
could  never  be  again. 

And  it  was  not  two  months  yet  since  Halloween. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 
RILL'S  RUBICON. 

"  WHATEVER  it  was,  whoever  had  been  to  blame, 
I  had  a  right  to  know.  It  was  my  life.  I  had  a 
right  to  live  it,  or  at  least  to  have  been  ready !  " 
Rill  cried  out  to  herself  bitterly.  "  A  father  and 
a  mother  at  the  two  ends  of  the  earth !  Oh,  it  was 
cruel,  it  was  wicked,  to  keep  it  back  from  me,  and 
let  it  come  like  this  !  Your  own  sister,  too,  Miss 
Bontible ! "  she  broke  forth,  with  almost  an  ab 
surdity  of  indignation,  as  if  confronting  her  aunt 
Amelia  with  the  charge,  and  flinging  at  her  the 
hard  name  that  thrust  off  kindred.  "  You  ought 
to  have  followed  her  ;  you  ought  to  have  found 
her,  and  stood  by  her !  You  had  me  to  help  you,  — 
the  little  child  !  She  would  have  come  back  for 
me,  and  I  should  have  had  my  mother !  You  had 
no  right  to  keep  me,  and  to  let  her  go !  I  never 
can  forgive  you  —  and  I  was  just  beginning  to 
think  I  loved  you  !  " 

After  this  storm  swept  through  and  over  her  — 
she  did  not  know  how  long  it  lasted  ;  one  cannot 


270  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

measure  a  cyclone  while  in  it  —  she  sat  down,  quite 
still,  for  a  space,  and  let  her  way  show  itself  before 
her.  She  did  not  try  to  make  a  plan  ;  she  looked 
on  in  a  sort  of  blankness,  while  the  plan  made 
itself. 

She  must  go  to  Montreal.  She  must  find,  she 
must  see,  this  mother.  "  Come  to  the  Maison  de  la 
Sainte  Esperance,"  the  letter  said.  "•  It  is  in  street 
Larmes  des  Anges.  Ask  for  Mother  Marthe 
or  Sister  Veronique.  Tell  them  you  belong  to 
me  and  I  have  sent  for  you.  You  need  not  tell 
them  everything.  Only  come  and  just  say  that 
till  I  have  talked  with  you.  May  be  you  don't  be 
lieve  me  but  you  will.  Then  you  can  say  what  you 
like  afterward." 

This  was  the  way  it  was  written,  in  short  periods, 
evading  clauses  and  commas.  It  was  well  spelled, 
and  fairly  expressed,  throughout,  but  evidently 
not  the  work  of  one  easily  practiced.  It  was 
signed  "  E.  B.  Raye."  The  woman  had  honest 
right  to  both  the  initial  letters,  though  she  had 
always  been  called  "  Loraine."  Spelled  out  in  full, 
the  Christian  name  was  Eloraine ;  one  of  those 
curious  fancy  constructions  that  are  found  in  coun 
try  town  records,  and  in  remote  old  graveyards. 
But  she  had  doubtless  remembered  in  writing  it, 
that  Miss  Bonable's  sister  was  "Esther,"  and  had 
shrewdly  divined  the  ambiguity  or  absolute  igno- 


E1LVS  RUBICON.  271 

ranee  in  which  Cyrilla  might  have  been  left.  She 
would  have  come  across  Esther  Bonable's  name, 
she  guessed  ;  and  Amelia  was  "  aunt  Amelia  "  to 
her. 

It  was  well  guessed  and  ventured.  Cyrilla  knew 
and  secretly  cherished  the  name  she  believed  to 
have  been  her  mother's.  "  Why  was  n't  I  named 
for  my  mother  ?  "  she  had  startled  Miss  Bonable 
once  by  asking.  "  Esther  is  a  strong,  sensible 
name  ;  perhaps  I  should  n't  have  been  so  flighty  if 
I  had  n  't  been  called  Cyrilla." 

"  You  were  called  after  your  father's  mother," 
Miss  Bonable  had  answered,  shortly.  "  And  she 
was  a  stiddy,  reliable  woman." 

There  she  had  dropped  the  bar  that  always  fell 
across  any  talk  of  former  things  or  relations.  Si 
lence,  withdrawal,  or  determined  change  of  subject, 
ended  inevitably  all  approach  to  investigation,  and 
Rill  was  afraid  of  what  there  might  be  to  hear. 

Now,  she  knew.  Now,  there  was  one  thing  cer 
tain.  She  must  go  to  Montreal.  Nobody  must 
hinder  her.  Something  of  effort,  of  courage  re 
quired,  gave  a  stimulus,  if  not  exhilarating,  at  least 
counteractive  to  her  real  trouble  ;  it  met  her  tem 
perament,  always  roused  to  whatever  called  for  de 
cision,  daring.  It  was  a  long  journey  ;  it  was  win 
ter  ;  she  was  all  alone ;  she  must  venture  every 
thing,  without  advice,  at  once,  and  by  herself.  Per- 


272  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

haps  a  less  demand  would  have  given  her  less 
determination. 

She  went  to  her  little  bureau  drawer,  that  was 
under  the  glass.  There  were  fifty  dollars  here,  of 
her  last  rent.  It  was  to  have  bought  her  a  new 
cloak  and  dress.  Never  mind  that,  now.  She  had 
two  hundred  more  laid  by,  at  the  New  England 
Trust  Company.  She  could  get  that,  and  if  there 
were  more,  rightly  belonging  to  her,  as  this  letter 
said,  and  as  was  likely  if  all  the  rest  it  said  were 
true,  Miss  Bonable  would  send  it  to  her.  Miss 
Bonable  was  a  — no,  she  could  never  say  again  that 
she  was  a  just  woman ;  but  she  would  not  cheat  in 
money.  Rill  would  be  able  to  help  her  mother ; 
when  she  had  found  her,  they  would  think  together 
what  to  do.  Something  hardened  up  in  her  against 
any  other  hope  she  had  ever  had.  It  was  no  use 
looking  that  way  ;  it  was  like  Lot's  wife.  She 
would  be  petrified ;  she  would  be  changed  into 
utter  bitterness  and  deadness,  if  she  did.  She 
must  just  go  straight  on. 

She  brought  carefully  and  quietly  downstairs 
into  the  unused  north  parlor,  a  small  square  trunk. 
She  carried  and  put  into  it  the  things  she  needed 
for  a  journey.  Clementhy  came  to  her  at  lunch 
time,  or  after,  —  Rill  did  not  know  which,  for  she 
had  not  remembered  her  own  little  tray,  and  her 
book,  and  her  quiet  pasturing  of  mind  and  body,  at 


RILL'S  RUBICON.  273 

all.  Clementhy  came  and  said  she  guessed  she 
would  walk  over  to  Shepaug.  She  could  be  back 
before  Miss  Bonable.  Her  brother-in-law  would 
fetch  her  home.  "Very  well,"  Rill  told  her. 
"Lock  your  end  of  the  house;  I  will  lock  the 
front.  I  shall  go  down  to  the  village." 

So  she  did ;  she  wrote  a  note  first  to  Miss 
Haven,  inclosing  with  it  a  little  blue  book  and 
a  check  which  she  drew  to  Miss  Haven's  order. 
"  She  will  do  that  for  me,  I  know,"  she  said. 

At  the  post-office  she  had  the  parcel  registered, 
and  mailed  it ;  then  she  bought  a  small  can  of 
sweet  biscuits  and  some  oranges ;  she  did  not  feel 
as  if  she  could  eat  Miss  Bonable's  bread  again  ; 
she  stopped  at  the  express  office,  and  ordered  them 
to  send  up  presently  and  take  a  trunk  from  the  cot 
tage  to  the  station  ;  these  things  accomplished,  she 
hastened  back  to  Brook  Lane,  sent  off  her  box 
when  the  man  came  for  it,  and  wrote  one  more 
note,  a  very  brief  one. 

How  she  got  rid  of  the  hours  that  remained,  she 
hardly  knew ;  she  waited  till  she  heard  Clementhy 
below  again,  then  she  called  to  her  and  told  her  she 
was  tired  and  had  a  headache  and  would  not  come 
down  to  tea.  She  would  go  to  bed,  she  thought. 

When  Miss  Bonable  came  back,  Rill's  bedroom 
door  was  locked,  and  she  made  neither  sign  nor 
sound  in  answer  to  the  knock  and  question  that 


274  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

were  tried  quietly  once,  and  not  repeated.  Miss 
Bonable  was  tired,  herself ;  it  was  seven  o'clock ; 
it  seemed  a  long  evening  already;  she  went  to  bed, 
and  the  winter  night  and  stillness  fell  down  upon 
them  all. 

It  was  yet  in  the  twilight  of  the  December  morn 
ing  when  Rill,  with  her  shawl  and  her  hand-satchel, 
and  her  brown  veil  tied  close  down  across  her  face 
shielding  from  cold  and  observation,  walked  over 
the  mile  of  road,  clean  crusted  with  smooth-worn 
snow.  She  took  a  train  half  an  hour  earlier  than 
was  needful,  that  she  might  be  less  likely  to  meet 
any  acquaintances,  and  be  fairly  away  before  any 
one  at  home  would  be  stirring  to  miss  her.  She 
found  her  trunk  at  the  station,  had  it  checked  and 
put  upon  the  platform,  and  stood  there  by  it  when, 
three  minutes  later,  the  electric  signal  rang,  and 
the  engine  came  steaming  around  the  curve  from 
Shepaug.  The  sun  came  up  red  over  the  marshes, 
as  the  train  slipped  through  the  river  cut,  sped  on 
between  the  woods,  and  rushed  out  along  the  line 
that  shot  its  level,  glittering  parallels  toward  the 
city  whose  roofs  and  spires  shone  presently  in  sight 
upon  its  clustered  hills,  and  out  over  the  great  sub 
urban  avenues. 

It  was  morning,  bringing  new  things  every 
where  ;  how  new  and  strange  to  thousands  of  lives 
only  each  of  the  glad  or  anxious  or  suffering  thou- 


RILUS  RUBICON.  275 

sands  could  tell.  Rill  wondered  if  it  could  mean 
as  much  to  anybody  else  as  to  herself.  To  aunt 
Amelia  ?  Oh,  yes  !  She  thought  of  her  with  a 
pang  of  wronged,  angry  tenderness  ;  but  how  could 
she  herself  have  done  otherwise  than  she  had  done  ? 
It  was  aunt  Amelia  who  was  responsible ;  it  was 
she  who  had  shaped  things  to  the  issue ;  the  very 
yearning  and  regret  Rill  felt  sprang  from  that  in 
her  which  would  not  have  let  her  stay  and  face 
Miss  Bonable  with  the  reproach  of  her  doing ;  nei 
ther  could  she  have  borne  a  contradiction  of  her 
purpose.  She  must  do  this,  and  she  must  do  it 
alone.  She  must  find  her  mother,  whatever  came 
of  it. 

And  suppose  she  did  not  find  her  ?  Very  well ; 
that  possibility  had  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  it  was 
her  duty  to  try. 

At  the  Boston  station  she  bought  her  ticket,  got 
her  check,  engaged  a  seat  in  the  parlor  car,  and 
had  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  and  a  roll  at  the  cafe" ; 
then  she  went  into  the  train  and  found  her  place 
in  the  Pullman.  She  sat  there  alone  for  some 
minutes  ;  it  was  still  early ;  she  leaned  back  in  the 
deep  chair  and  shut  her  eyes  ;  it  was  her  first  pause 
in  the  rush  of  needful  action.  She  was  tired  ;  she 
did  not  wish  to  look  at  the  movement  about  her, 
up  and  down  the  platform  ;  luggage  being  hurried 
by  on  trucks ;  groups  of  friends,  gayly  talking, 


276  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

happy  in  all  starting  off  together  ;  other  groups 
bidding  good-by  and  parting. 

People  began  to  come  in  behind  her ;  she  sat 
still,  and  did  not  look  around ;  her  chair  was  near 
the  front.  By  and  by  the  train  gave  a  slow,  heavy 
pull,  the  great  wheels  measured  the  lengths  of  rail 
with  separate  clanks ;  the  engine  panted  ;  then  it 
got  easy,  regular  breath  ;  the  rails  w»ere  clicked  off 
faster  under  the  smoother,  swifter  roll ;  presently 
their  rapid-running  beats  pulsed  the  miles  like 
minutes ;  the  causeways  and  the  bridges  had  been 
crossed  and  left  behind  ;  the  State  Prison  and  Bun 
ker  Hill  Monument  had  wheeled  away  to  the  right ; 
they  were  whizzing  by  the  first  suburban  stations  ; 
they  were  out  into  the  white  frozen  country. 

Charles  River  was  Rill's  Rubicon  ;  she  had 
passed  it.  Aunt  Amelia  had  her  note  by  this  time  ; 
she  was  off  beyond  recall. 

She  shut  her  eyes  again ;  she  tried  to  shut  out 
thinking  ;  and  she  went  to  sleep.  Poor  child  !  she 
had  not  really  rested  all  the  night. 

Somebody  had  taken  a  seat  upon  the  opposite 
side,  a  little  back  ;  he  had  laid  a  rug  and  satchel 
and  his  Railway  Guide  upon  it,  and  had  gone  away 
into  the  smoker. 

Nearly  an  hour  went  by  ;  he  had  returned  to  his 
place ;  but  of  the  little  figure  over  across,  nothing 
was  visible  as  it  still  leaned  hidden,  with  its  veiled 


RILL'S  RUBICON.  277 

face  turned  away.  Only  a  fold  of  dark  bine 
winter  serge  that  fell  to  the  floor  from  around 
the  heavy  curving1  arm  of  the  chair,  gave  evidence 
of  its  occupant.  The  two  who  were  to  be  all-day 
neighbors  had  not  seen  each  other  yet. 

They  were  speeding  away  along  the  reaches  of 
the  Merrimack,  whose  narrowing  current  made  its 
darkly  vivid  rush  between  the  snowy  ice-floes,  when 
Rill  was  roused  by  the  conductor's  deferent  touch 
and  request  for  ticket.  Swinging  slightly  round 
upon  her  revolving  seat,  as  he  passed  on,  she  put 
up  her  veil  and  glanced  across  through  the  oppo 
site  windows  upon  the  white  slopes  of  hills  that 
just  then  shut  in  the  valley,  wondering  what  part 
of  the  country  it  might  be. 

The  gentleman  upon  the  other  side  put  down  his 
newspaper,  as  the  official  came  to  him  in  turn  ;  he 
saw,  past  the  shoulder  of  the  man,  the  sweet,  strong 
profile  suddenly  thrown  in  view.  He  hurriedly 
took  back  his  ticket,  and  started  to  his  feet.  The 
conductor  moved  along,  and  the  passenger  went 
forward ;  he  remembered  just  in  time  to  stay  his 
step  from  a  spring,  and  to  tone  his  voice  from 
others'  hearing. 

«  Miss  Raye  !  " 

Cyrilla  looked  quickly  up ;  she  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  Dr.  Harriman. 


278  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

We  must  leave  them  there ;  I  must  tell  you 
meanwhile  about  Miss  Bonable. 

At  this  very  moment,  or  nearly  so,  she  was  ring- 
in°:  Mrs.  Rextell's  bell  on  Mount  Vernon  Street. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

EXACTLY    LIKE    MRS.    REXTELL. 

A  GRAY-HAIRED,  black-coated,  severely  respecta 
ble  servant  opened  the  door.  He  was  the  town 
butler  ;  he  did  not  know  Miss  Bonable,  who  asked 
to  see  Miss  Haven.  "  The  ladies  are  all  out,"  he 
told  her. 

"  Then,  if  you  please,  I  must  come  in  and  wait," 
Miss  Bonable  said,  with  her  usual  curt  decision. 
"  I  am  Miss  Bonable,  from  Wewachet.  I  have  an 
important  errand  to  Miss  Haven." 

The  butler  civilly  threw  back  the  door,  and 
stood  aside.  The  servants  in  this  house  were 
always  civil. 

"  Will  you  walk  into  the  little  reception  parlor, 
Miss  Bonable,  and  sit  down  ?  "  the  man  asked  her ; 
and  then  he  went  and  called  the  lady's  maid.  He 
might  be  civil ;  but  he  was  duly  cautious,  also. 

Agnes  was  always  with  her  mistress,  here  or 
there.  She  knew  Wewachet.  Agnes  came.  The 
poor  lady  by  this  time  was  faint  with  worry,  effort, 
disappointment ;  she  sat  bolt  upright  against  the 


280  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

back  of  a  tall  chair,  looking  as  if  otherwise  she 
would  sway  and  fall. 

Agnes  hastened  to  her.  "  Miss  Bonable,"  she 
said,  "  you  are  not  well.  You  must  have  something. 
Melcombe,  bring  a  glass  of  wine/' 

u  I  came  in  without  my  breakfast,"  said  Miss 
Bonable,  moving  her  lips  nervously  ;  slie  meant  to 
smile.  "  I  was  in  a  hurry." 

"  Bring  a  biscuit,  and  some  cold  chicken,  Mel- 
combe,"  added  Agnes  to  her  order. 

The  girl  was  kind,  by  nature  and  by  training. 
She  was  also  a  little  fond  of  representing  her  mis 
tress  with  authority,  strong  in  the  certainty  of 
what  her  mistress  would  approve.  "  And  then  you 
must  come  upstairs,  Miss  Bonable,"  she  said.  She 
was  truly  fine  in  her  assumption  of  responsibility, 
and  her  calm  indorsement  of  Miss  Boiiable's  cor 
rectness.  Melcombe  obeyed  her  directions,  and 
stood  meekly  aside. 

So  when  Mrs.  Rextell  and  her  guest  returned 
from  their  morning  drive  and  charity  meeting,  they 
found  Miss  Bonable  on  the  sofa  in  the  dressing- 
room  between  their  sleeping-chambers ;  outwardly 
quiet,  but  holding  herself  there  by  main  force.  She 
sprang  up  as  they  entered. 

"  Oh,  have  we  waked  you  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Rex- 
tell,  regretfully,  and  quite  as  if  she  had  come  home 
expecting  to  find  her  country  neighbor  there  asleep. 


EXACTLY  LIKE  MRS.  HEX  TELL.  281 

"  I  have  n't  been  asleep.  I  have  been  in  a  stun 
these  three  hours,"  answered  Miss  Bonable.  "  A 
terrible  thing  has  happened,  Miss  Haven ;  Rill 
has  gone  away." 

After  she  had  spoken  these  words,  in  a  kind  of 
mechanical  dullness,  Miss  Bonable  dropped  herself 
back  upon  the  sofa,  and  put  her  hands  over  her 
face.  "  I  ain't  angry  ;  and  I  can't  cry,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  leave  you  with  her  ;  if  I  can  do  any 
good,  call  me,"  whispered  Mrs.  Kextell  gently,  and 
went  into  her  own  room,  closing  the  door. 

"•  I  don't  understand.  Rill  gone  away  ?  When  ? 
where  ?  "  asked  Miss  Ha  veil.  But  first  she  sat 
down  by  Miss  Bonable,  and  put  her  hand  upon  her 
friend's  shoulder,  leaning  her  own  face  tenderly 
close  to  hers.  Miss  Bonable  drew  round,  freeing 
herself,  not  ungently,  but  as  one  who  must  hold 
herself  up  alone. 

"  She  's  gone  - —  to  Canada.  And  Dr.  Harriman  's 
gone.  Now  you  know  it  all." 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  don't  know  anything ;  except 
that  that  cannot  be  true  —  unless  as  two  separate 
facts.  Do  explain." 

"  It  is  n't  separate.  That  explains."  And  she 
pushed  a  paper,  folded  and  rolled,  and  pinched 
and  clenched  small,  into  Miss  Haven's  hand.  Miss 
Haven  opened  it  from  its  many  creases  and  read 
this  :  — 


282  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  am  going  away.  I  am  sorry,  but  it  cannot 
be  helped.  You  will  guess  what  I  have  gone  for. 
If  you  had  trusted  me,  if  you  had  let  me  under 
stand  my  own  life,  if  you  had  tried  to  believe  any 
good  of  my  —  the  person  I  am  going  to,  it  might 
have  been  different.  There  might  never  have  been 
any  going  away  at  all.  I  could  not  tell  you,  I 
could  not  ask  you,  now ;  it  is  my  own  concern,  my 
own  decision ;  it  had  to  be.  I  will  send  you  some 
word  from  Montreal." 

Miss  Bonable  gazed  straight  into  Miss  Haven's 
face  while  she  read  ;  as  if  through  her  face,  into 
her  thought,  she  would  reach  to  read  something 
that  she  had  not  been  able  of  herself  to  find  in  the 
lines. 

Miss  Haven  lifted  her  eyes  when  she  had  fin 
ished,  and  met  the  look.  "  What  she  says  is  true  ; 
you  have  not  trusted  her." 

"  Oh,  I  meant  to  !  When  I  had  got  her  where 
I  could !  I  was  trying  to  bring  her  up  to  be 
trusted  !  "  broke  in  quick  exclamations  from  Miss 
Bonable's  lips. 

"  You  have  been  too  long  bringing  her  up," 
Miss  Haven  said  quietly,  using  the  very  word  Rill 
had  used  so  long  ago.  "  Begin  by  trusting  her 
now." 

"  Now !  When  it  is  all  over  ?  When  she  has 
gone  away  with  that  —  oh  !  "  Miss  Bonable  could 


EXACTLY  LIKE  MRS.  REXTELL.  283 

not  put  the  final  word ;  she  could  not,  after  all, 
accuse  Rill  in.  that  outright  speech. 

"  Nothing  is  over.  And  she  has  not  done  what 
you  think." 

"  What  else  can  she  have  done  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  She  never  would  have  written 
you  this  had  it  been  —  Dr.  Harriman.  Dr.  Harri- 
man  may  have  gone  to  Canada ;  it  is  an  unfor 
tunate  coincidence  ;  but  I  am  sure  that  it  has  no 
thing  to  do  with  Rill.  She  did  not  remember  that, 
when  this  came  on  her  suddenly.  Miss  Bonable, 
it  is  a  quite  different  thing.  Rill  has  heard  from 
her  mother." 

"  Through  you  ?  "  Miss  Bonable  demanded 
quickly,  at  that  statement. 

"  No,  my  friend.  I  wish  she  had.  I  had  not 
told  her.  Mrs.  Raye  "  — 

"  Hush  !     There  is  no  Mrs.  Raye  !  " 

"  Rill's  mother  must  be  in  Montreal.  She  must 
have  written." 

For  a  minute  Miss  Bonable  held  her  breath. 

"  Do  you  think  that  ?  "  she  said  at  last. 

"  I  do.  I  think  it  is  like  Rill  —  impetuous, 
hasty,  noble  —  to  have  gone  right  off  to  her." 

Ao'ain  Miss  Bonable  sat  silent,  breathless. 

o 

Mrs.  Rextell  knocked  upon  her  side  of  the  dress 
ing-room  door.  "May  I  come  in?"  she  asked. 
"  I  have  a  note  for  you.  It  has  just  been  brought 


284  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

to  me.  It  may  explain,"  she  added  as  she  en 
tered. 

It  was  Kill's  note  to  Miss  Haven. 

"  I  am  going  away,"  it  said.  "  I  must.  Some 
thing  I  never  knew  before  —  a  duty — has  come 
to  me.  I  will  write  and  tell  you  more  when  I  un 
derstand  more  myself.  I  know  you  will  believe 
in  me,,  and  that  you  will  do  for  me  what  I  have  to 
ask  you.  I  shall  want  money,  —  whatever  really 
belongs  to  me.  I  hardly  know  what  that  may  be. 
I  shall  have  to  leave  it  to  you  to  ask  ;  I  am  sure 
it  will  be  all  right.  I  send  a  check  for  what  I  had 
of  my  very  own ;  it  is  to  your  order.  Will  you  get 
it,  and  send  it  to  me  in  a  draft,  or  whatever  way 
is  right  and  regular,  as  soon  as  you  have  received 
my  address  ?  Good-by,  dear  Miss  Haven.  I  am 
sorry,  sorry,  for  everybody.  But  my  whole  life  is 
changed,  and  I  cannot  help  it." 

Those  last  sentences  were  veiy  full,  as  Miss 
Haven  read  them,  between  the  syllables.  There 
was  a  message  in  them  for  Miss  Bonable,  though 
Rill  had  not  been  able  to  write  her  name.  There 
was  something  in  them  also  that  reached  beyond 
Miss  Bonable,  to  what  that  excellent  person,  with 
all  her  watchfulness,  had  never  discerned  —  for 
the  very  reason  that  it  was  not  a  thing  to  be  afraid 
of,  but  a  thing  of  good. 

"  It  is  just  as  1  expected.  Rill  has  certainly 
heard  from  her  mother." 


EXACTLY  LIKE  MES.  REXTELL.  285 

Miss  Bonable's  eyes  grew  wide  in  amazement, 
turning  from  Miss  Haven  to  Mrs.  Rextell,  as  these 
words  were  uttered. 

"  Mrs.  Rextell  knows.  She  will  help  us,"  said 
Miss  Haven,  to  the  look.  "  I  did  tell  her,  long  ago, 
out  of  honor  and  love  to  you,  Miss  Bonable.  I 
ought  to  have  told  Rill ;  but  I  waited.  I  have  never 
been  sorry  for  telling  too  much ;  it  is  the  telling 
too  little  that  always  does  harm." 

"  But,  Miss  Haven,  it  is  a  terrible  thing  any  way. 
It  is  n't  explainable.  She  's  gone  ;  and  he  's  gone  ; 
and  folks  will  never  believe.  And  what  will  be 
come  of  her  —  off  there  — with  that  woman  ?  " 

"  Folks  will  always  have  to  believe  the  truth. 
And  the  truth  will  be  that  Rill  has  gone  on  a  jour 
ney,  and  is  in  the  care  of  friends,  as  she  ought  to 
be.  1  Ayill  go  to  Montreal  myself." 

"  They  will  think  they  see  through  that ;  even 
if  you  bring  her  home  again."  Poor  Miss  Bona 
ble,  who  "  would  have  made  a  pretty  good  burglar 
herself,"  was  so  swift  in  devising  malevolent  possi 
bilities. 

Mrs.  Rextell  had  been  reading  Rill's  note,  which 
Miss  Haven  had  put  into  her  hand.  Now  she 
spoke. 

"  Let  me  go  to  Montreal,"  she  said.  "  Every 
body  knows  I  am  like  a  bird  on  a  perch,  always 
ready  for  a  flitting.  And  why  should  I  not  invite 


286  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Miss  Raye  to  go  with  Margaret  and  me  ?  I  do 
invite  her.  We  will  be  there  with  her  to-morrow 
night.  Miss  Bonable,  you  will  stay  here  on  a  little 
visit  with  Miss  Haven,  please,  and  just  get  rested 
and  quiet,  until  you  hear  from  us.  Then,  if  it 
seems  best,  you  can  go  home,  and  report  facts.  I 
hope  Miss  Haven  will  not  leave  until  after  we 
return.  That  may  be  very  soon,  you  know." 

Miss  Haven's  eyes  glistened.  "  This  is  so  ex 
actly  like  you,  that  I  might  have  expected  it,"  she 
said.  "  But  we  shall  have  to  wait  for  the  address ; 
you  can  hardly  set  off  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  will  just  wait  and  see.  Agnes 
shall  have  us  ready.  And  now  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  cheer  each  other  up.  Don't  you  want  to  send 
some  word  to  Wewachet,  Miss  Bonable  ?  Let 
your  woman  know  you  will  be  away  a  day  or  two  — 
you  and  Miss  Rill  —  then  she  will  have  something 
proper  to  say.  Oh,  it  will  all  work  beautifully; 
things  always  do,  when  you  mean  right,  and  can 
get  just  a  little  ahead  of  them  !  " 

Mrs.  Rextell  laughed.  She  had  a  gleeful  way  of 
undertaking  things ;  a  sufficient  reason  for  under 
taking  a  great  deal,  unexpectedly  —  a  chance  to 
help  somebody  —  always  made  her  merry.  "  It 
was  so  good  and  wise  of  you  to  tell  me  all  about 
it,"  she  said  to  Miss  Haven.  "  I  have  understood 
you  and  Cyrilla  for  a  long  time,  Miss  Bonable, 


EXACTLY  LIKE  MRS.  REXTELL.  287 

better  than  you  have  understood  each  other  ;  but 
perhaps  I  could  n't  have  taken  the  whole  right  in 
now,  in  a  hurry." 

"  What  will  Clementhy  have  said  already  ? " 
asked  Miss  Haven. 

Mrs.  Eextell  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,"  Miss 
Haven  replied  to  that,  serenely.  "  But  I  am  not 
inconsistent.  There  's  a  time  to  keep  silence,  and 
a  time  to  speak." 

"  She  won't  have  said  anything,  except  that  we 
have  both  gone  to  Boston.  Clementhy  Pond  is 
still.  She  is  n't  a  chattering  brook,"  said  Miss 
Bonable. 

Certainly  the  dear  lady  was  beginning  to  be 
more  comfortable  in  her  mind.  Before,  then,  any 
thing  else  occurs  to  her  as  disastrously  possible,  we 
will  leave  her  with  these  good  friends  in  Mount 
Vernon  Street,  and  go  back  to  Rill  on  board  the 
northward-speeding  train. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE    TELEGRAM. 

IT  had  not  occurred  to  one  of  these  friends, 
somehow,  that  Dr.  Harriman  and  Cyrilla  could  pos 
sibly  have  happened  upon  this  very  same  train 
together.  That  was  spared  them.  They  only 
thought  of  the  two  as  having  gone  away  within 
the  same  twenty-four  hours,  bound,  by  distinct 
routes,  to  two  different  points  in  Canada. 

The  elements  for  another  little  calculation  were 
happily  wanting  to  them  also.  They  did  not 
reckon  upon  the  sharp  eyes  of  Mrs.  Porbeagle 
early  at  her  window  ;  or  upon  the  trained  acute- 
ness  of  Sam  Porbeagle,  floor-walker  at  one  of  the 
big  stores,  who  had  gone  in  by  the  train  which  Rill 
had  taken ;  nor  upon  the  curiosity  and  comment  of 
half  a  dozen  village  folk,  about  the  station1;  nor 
the  knowledge  of  several  fellow-passengers  by  the 
7.30,  that  Dr.  Harriman  had  set  off  at  that  time; 
nor  upon  the  note  of  Miss  Bonable's  own  pale  face 
and  anxious  look  as  she  followed  by  the  forenoon 
shopping  train. 


THE  TELEGRAM.  289 

Beyond  all,  they  did  not  remember  that  it  was 
the  afternoon  of  the  Benevolent  Circle  at  the  church 
parlors,  where  they  would  make  patchwork  quilts, 
and  quilt  together  patchwork  items  such  as  these, 
that  might  be  picked  up  of  the  absent,  and  brought 
in  ;  in  both  pieces  of  work,  the  skill  and  value  being 
in  the  smallness  of  the  bits  that  could  nevertheless 
be  cleverly  joined  into  a  brilliant  pattern. 

Dr.  Harriman,  meeting  Rill  in  this  surprising 
manner,  remembered  at  once  a  dozen  such  possi 
bilities.  He  was  alive  instantly  to  the  position  of 
things,  and  to  the  aspect  it  might  take  at  Old  Vil 
lage.  It  was  to  his  honor  that  his  first  anxiety  was 
for  Rill.  Had  she  come  from  home  this  morning  ? 
Had  she  come  alone  ?  What  could  possibly  be  her 
errand  and  destination,  upon  this  long  express? 
The  first  two  questions  he  put  to  her.  Yes ;  she 
had  come  alone ;  from  home  ;  she  was  going  a 
journey. 

"  Might  he  ask,  was  it  far  ?  Miss  Bona- 
ble?"- 

"  Miss  Bonable  did  not  know,  Dr.  Harriman." 

Rill  made  this  straightforward,  amazing  answer, 
with  her  eyes  looking  clearly  and  unafraid  into  his. 
It  was  an  assertion  of  absolute  right  and  sufficient 
reason  ;  with  a  brevity  and  reticence  which  said 
that  her  purpose  and  her  secret  were  her  own. 

"  But  —  if  you  will  forgive  me  " —  and  he  took 


290  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

the  vacant  chair  beside  her,  turning  it  to  a  conver 
sational  angle  with  her  own.  There  were  but  few 
passengers  ;  the  others  were  all  below  the  middle 
of  the  car.  "  It  is  a  strange  coincidence,  our  being 
here  ;  and  —  are  you  sure  you  can  quite  manage  ? 
Might  I  not  do  something  for  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  strange,"  Rill  said,  still  in  that  contained 
and  certain  way.  "  I  do  not  wonder  you  should 
think  so.  No  —  I  thank  you,  Dr.  Harriman  —  I 
need  nothing  done  for  me." 

"  But  why  ?  Forgive  me  !  "  he  said  again.  "  I 
wish  you  would  tell  me  more.  I  think  your  errand 
must  be  a  very  serious  one  ;  and  —  are  you  sure  "- 
he  finished  this  time  what  he  had  been  on  the  point 
of  saying  before,  and  had  turned  aside  from —  "  are 
you  sure  it  will  be  rightly  understood  ?  " 

"  I  never  have  been  rightly  understood ;  and  /, 
oh,  /have  understood  nothing  !  " 

Her  measured  manner  broke  ;  she  uttered  the 
words  impulsively.  Then  she  collected  herself  with 
a  visible  withdrawal.  "  It  is  a  family  matter ; 
nothing  I  can  tell,  or  explain  ;  it  is  something  quite 
my  own,  that  I  never  knew  of  before.  I  am  going 
to  a  relative,  Dr.  Harriman.  I  shall  not  be  alone 
when  I  get  to  Montreal." 

She  was  going  all  the  way,  then !  They  were 
both  going  all  the  way,  together.  What  should  he 
do  with  her  ?  How  could  he  leave  her  ,to  herself, 


THE  TELEGRAM.  291 

and  what  could  her  mysterious  errand  be  ?  Above 
all,  what  would  be  imagined  or  believed  at  home  ? 
He  thought  of  all  the  strange  conjunctions  and  de 
nouements  of  fiction  ;  of  possible  reality  that  might 
be  stranger  than  fiction,  more  hazardous  to  this 

O 

young  girl  than  she  could  guess.  These  family 
matters,  that  have  been  kept  secret  while  a  girl 
was  growing  up ;  these  relatives  who  turn  up  and 
make  claim  suddenly, —  what  were  they  likely  to 
be,  or  to  bring  with  them  ?  No  —  he  could  not 
leave  her  to  herself ;  but  how  could  he  take  care  of 
her  ?  His  heart  beat  as  he  thought  of  a  way ;  of 
that  for  which  the  opportunity,  the  excuse,  was 
thrust  before  him. 

He  waited  a  little  while  before  he  spoke  again. 
Then  he  said,  quite  differently,  "  You  did  not 
answer  my  letter,  Miss  Raye." 

"  Oh,  do  not  speak  of  that,  Dr.  Harriman  !  I 
had  forgotten  !  " 

It  was  perfectly  true  that,  for  the  moment,  after 
the  first  startle  and  shock,  in  the  intensity  of  that 
which  now  occupied  her,  and  concerning  which  he 
questioned  her,  it  had  been,  as  it  were,  discharged 
from  her  mind.  It  was  such  a  trivial  thing,  com 
paratively  ;  it  was  so  far  back,  already,  in  the  past 
with  which  she  had  no  more  to  do. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Raye !  I  would  not  for  the 
world  take  any  rude  or  ungenerous  advantage  ; 


292  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

but,  this  wholly  unpremeditated  circumstance,  this 
unknown  errand  which  I  find  you  undertaking, 
upon  what  you  say  yourself  is  a  sudden,  brief 
knowledge,  don't  you  see  how  it  places  me  ?  How 
can  I  let  you  proceed  alone,  in  what  may  be  a  diffi 
culty,  an  imprudence,  for  you  ?  And  yet,  what  am 
I  to  do,  that  might  not,  in  another  way,  make  it 
worse  ?  You  are  so  clear  and  true  and  single- 
hearted,  you  do  not  see,  you  do  not  guess,  what 
deception,  or  danger,  may  be  waiting  for  you.  Or 
if  you  know  more  than  you  will  tell  me  —  it  may 
be  some  trouble,  some  dread  —  something  or  some 
body  whom  it  will  be  self-sacrifice  for  you  to  meet 
and  acknowledge  ;  there  are  such  things  ;  you  see 
I  don't  know  your  '  family  matters,'  as  you  have 
said.  If  I  could  meet  it  with  you,  whatever  it  is, 
Rill,  I  am  ready ;  I  am  glad !  If  you  will  give 
me  the  right  to  face  life  with  you  and  for  you  — 
won't  you  answer  me  now,  Rill,  and  say  that  I 
may  ?  " 

He  leaned  toward  her,  and  spoke  rapidly  and 
low  ;  all  his  best  impulses  were  in  the  words  and 
shaped  them  ;  he  looked  at  her  earnestly,  with  eyes 
that  might  earnestly  win  a  woman  ;  when  he  had 
spoken  he  waited  gravely  for  her  answer. 

She  made  a  slight  movement  from  him  as  he  sat ; 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and 
stopped  it  from  turning.  "  Do  not  do  that,"  he 


THE  TELEGRAM.  293 

said,  "  people  will  see ;  tell  me  quietly  what  you 
can  tell  toe  ;  do  not  speak  hastily  ;  I  can  be 
patient."  He  leaned  back  in  his  own  chair,  but 
did  not  take  his  look  away  from  her. 

Rill  lifted  her  eyes.  "  You  mean  to  be  very 
generous,  and  I  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  But  it  is 
utterly  impossible.  I  think,  if  you  are  kind,  you 
will  let  me  be  by  myself.  It  is  all  you  can  do,  and 
people  will  see,  as  you  said." 

"  But  you  do  not  see,  yourself.  Must  I  say  ? 
It  is  not  the  argument  I  wish  to  urge  ;  but  it  has 
force  ;  and  we  must  think  of  it.  You  say  Miss 
Bonable  does  not  know." 

"  I  said  she  did  not  know.  She  does,  by  this 
time." 

"  Everything  ?  " 

"  She  can  guess  everything.  I  did  not  need  to 
tell  her." 

Dr.  Harriman  paused  for  an  instant,  without 
reply,  from  sheer  surprise.  The  absolute  single 
ness  of  purpose,  failing  to  see  that  any  supposition 
aside  from  itself  was  possible,  dismayed  him.  Then 
he  said  —  forced  to  make  suggestion  to  such  inap- 
prehensive  sincerity :  — 

"  May  she  not  stop  short  in  her  guessing  ?  May 
she  not  be  full  now  of  a  trouble  which  only  thinks 
of  you  immediately,  and  of  what  she  fancies  may 
have  concerned  you  ?  Will  she  guess  what  you  have 


294  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

kept  back  ?  May  not  all  Wewachet  be  guessing, 
by  this  time —  or  soon  —  and  guessing  wrong?  " 

Rill  remembered  the  words  she  had  written,  and 
how  she  had  stinted  them.  What  should  Miss 
Bonable  suppose  ?  She  might  know  nothing  about 
Montreal,  except  —  what  flashed  upon  her  own 
mind  now.  Indignant  color  swept  up  into  her 
face.  She  was  indignant  with  herself,  that  she 
could  guess.  "  I  cannot  help  it,"  she  said,  coldly, 
while  her  cheeks  and  temples  burned. 

"  I  would  not  urge  it,"  Dr.  Harriman  repeated ; 
"but  I  think  of  it  for  you.  It  urges  me.  Because 
the  one  thing  I  can  do  —  best  —  to  serve  and  pro 
tect  you,  is  the  one  thing  of  all  the  world  that  I 
desire  —  must  that  go  against  me  ?  I  want  you  to 
belong  to  me,  Rill ;  in  all  circumstances,  forever  ; 
for  the  better  or  the  worse.  I  will  make  every 
thing  better,  if  I  can.  Let  it  begin  now  ;  give  me 
the  power,  and  let  your  errand  be  mine.  Let  me 
help  you  through  it,  whatever  it  is ;  then  I  will 
take  37ou,  my  wife,  to  my  sister,  my  mother.  They 
will  be  your  mother  and  sister  ;  it  will  be  for  you 
as  it  should  be.  They  will  love  you ;  they  are 
good  women,  and  you  will  love  them." 

The  color  still  burned,  and  even  deeper ;  the 
eyes  glowed ;  the  eyelids  trembled ;  but  she  lifted 
them,  and  forced  herself  to  look  steadily  at  him. 

"  You  mean  that  I  should  make  true  the  thing 


THE  TELEGRAM.  295 

they  may  think  of  me,  for  fear  of  the  thinking  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  a  pure  scorn,  not  of  him,  but  of  the 
thing,  and  the  fear.  "  No,  Dr.  Harrhnan  ;  do  not 
say  any  more  about  it.  Please,  will  you  go  away 


now 


9" 


She  kept  her  careful  manner,  for  the  outside,  her 
bravery  for  the  truth-speaking  ;  but  she  was  trem 
bling,  he  could  see,  beneath  the  composure  ;  under 
the  unswerving  lids  the  tears  were  shining.  He 
remembered  what  was  due,  and  needful ;  he  bowed, 
as  at  casual  conversation  ended,  and  withdrew  to 
his  own  seat.  Not  by  any  means  as  giving  all  up, 
and  leaving  her  to  her  own  mistake  and  its  com 
plications  ;  but  thinking  what  he  could  possibly 
do  for  her  in  the  meanwhile  that  she  would  not  let 
him  do  all  he  might.  He  took  no  refusal,  yet,  for 
himself ;  he  understood  the  fair  pride  with  which 
she  repudiated  the  expedient. 

By  and  by  he  came  and  stood  quietly  at  the  back 
of  her  chair.  She  had  faced  full  toward  the  win 
dow,  and  was  sitting  motionless,  looking  forth  upon 
the  white  banks  and  the  ice-margin,  and  the  still, 
strong  current  of  the  river. 

"  Miss  Raye,"  he  said ;  and  she  half  turned 
toward  him.  "  Can  you  think  of  anything  that  I 
can  do  for  your  comfort,  or  your  certainty  in  any 
way?" 

"  I  can  think  of  one  thing,"  she  answered  him 


296  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

with  the  most  direct  simplicity :  "  You  can  go  back 
to  Wewachet ;  then  they  will  see  that  there  is 
nothing  to  think  aboiit."  She  ordered  him  as  she 
had  ordered  him  about  the  drawing  of  her  tooth ; 
from  the  necessity  of  the  case.  "  You  know  it 
ought  to  be  done,"  was  what  she  had  told  him  ; 
and  this  unhesitant  plain  speaking  put  the  same 
conclusiveness  to  him  to-day. 

"  I  did  it,  that  was  all,"  had  been  his  own  word 
to  Miss  Haven.  It  was  all  he  could  afterward 
have  said  of  this.  But  there  were  other  things  to 
think  of  first.  "  Where  do  you  go  in  Montreal  ?  " 
he  asked  her.  "  It  will  be  late,  you  know." 

"  To  some  hotel,  at  first,"  she  supposed.  The 
conductor  would  tell  her.  She  would  ask  him  to 
see  her  safe. 

"  You  had  better  send  a  telegram.  I  will  do  it 
for  you,  from  Concord.  I  will  leave  the  train 
there,  and  go  back  to  Boston."  He  knew  better 
than  to  add  in  words,  "I  will  do  whatever  you 
choose  and  command ;  I  purely  desire  to  serve  you." 
But  he  meant  that  otherwise  than  in  mere  words 
she  should  discern  it. 

"  What  hotel  is  there  ? "  she  asked  him,  with 
ingenuous  ignorance.  There  was  the  St.  James, 
he  told  her.  Then  she  wrote  a  couple  of  lines  upon 
a  slip  of  paper,  and  handed  to  him  with  it  a  dollar 
bank-bill  from  her  porte-monnaie.  "  Will  that  do  ?  " 
she  said. 


THE  TELEGRAM.  297 

"  It  will  more  than  do."  And  he  gave  her  care 
fully  back  two  silver  quarters. 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Dr.  Harriman." 
And  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  "  Good-by." 

"  I  shall  not  say  good-by  to  you.  I  shall  never 
bid  you  good-by,  Miss  Raye."  But  he  left  her  ; 
and  when  the  train  slowed  into  the  Concord  station, 
he  picked  up  his  valise,  threw  his  coat  over  his  arm, 
and  walked  away  among  the  crowd  that  swarmed 
back  and  forth  along  the  platforms. 

The  telegram  he  sent,  however,  was  not  Rill's  at 
all.  It  ran  this  way  :  — 

"Have  warm  room  ready,  and  carriage  at  station, 
to  meet  Miss  Raye,  of  Boston,  who  will  arrive  by 
evening  train.  Show  every  care  and  attention  till 
friends  join  her."  To  this  dispatch  he  appended 
with  cool  audacity  the  name  and  address,  "  Eliza 
beth  Putnam  Haven,  of  Boston." 

"  They  know  all  the  old  names,  those  hotel  fel 
lows,"  he  said  to  himself. 


"THE   BENEV. 

HE  had  three  hours'  waiting  in  Concord  ;  then  he 
took  an  afternoon  train  back  to  Boston,  where  he 
caught  the  5.30  to  "Wewachet.  At  seven  o'clock 
he  called  on  Connie  Norris.  She  made  to  him  the 
same  interrogative  announcement  that  half  the 
people  he  had  seen  on  his  way  home  had  done. 
"  Why  !  you  went  off  this  morning,  I  thought ;  "  to 
which  he  made  the  same  sort  of  answer,  —  "I  went 
to  town  ;  I  met  with  a  detention ;  I  am  back  again. 
I  may  not  go  till  next  week.  Are  you  sorry?  Am 
I  the  bad  penny?"  etc.,  etc. 

Of  course,  Connie  was  delighted.  "  Now  we 
shall  keep  you  till  after  the  first  sociable,"  she  said. 
"  And  it 's  the  Benev',  to-night,  with  charades. 
Won't  you  come  over  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  go  over  with  you,  certainly  ; 
but  I  can  scarcely  stay  for  the  charades.  I  have 
something  to  do  —  a  person  to  see  on  business." 

"  I  wish  there  were  n't  any  business  in  the 
world  !  "  quoth  Connie.  '"  Only  buzziness." 


"  THE  BENEV:'  299 


"  Business  may  have  somewhat  to  do  with  the 
buzziness,"  was  the  doctor's  answer. 

She  paraded  him  in,  making  air  and  flutter  about 
the  door  of  the  hall  as  they  entered.  Some  heads 
were  turned,  and  some  talk  was  stopped.  Mrs. 
Porbeagle's  voice  went  on,  in  a  sort  of  soprano 
lead,  as  the  chorus  softened.  "  Old  Village  was 
pretty  lively,  I  should  think,  this  morning,"  she 
had  been  saying  to  her  inevitable  group.  "  First, 
Rill  Raye  off  with  a  trunk,  at  seven  o'clock,  for 
nobody  knows  where  ;  then,  Dr.  Harriman  off  with 
a  valise,  at  7.30,  for  Canada;  then  aunt  Bonable, 
as  mum  as  a  toad  and  as  fidgety  inside  as  a  grass 
hopper,  on  the  10.25,  sitting  with  her  back  to 
everybody,  on  the  front  edge  of  the  front  seat  of 
the  front  car,  with  her  nose  run  out  at  the  engine 
to  poke  it  along  faster,  and  scowling  at  every  stop. 
And  she  has  n't  come  back  yet.  Well  !  I  don't 
know  anything,  and  I  don't  mean  to  say  anything  ; 
but  it  looks  kind  o'  queer  and  newsy,  and  to-be- 
continued,  don't  it?  I  never  believed  much  in  that 
other  business.  The  other  aunt  tried  for  that,  but 
she  did  n't  make  it  out,  it  seems  ;  he  has  n't  been 
seen  in  Wewachet  this  two  months  ;  and  Miss 
Abominable  was  always  dead  set  against  the  tooth- 
puller.  Well,  he  's  gone,  now,  any  way  ;  and  she  's 
gone  ;  and  she  could  n't  have  caught  up  with  her 
to  see  her  off,  —  that  is,  if  she  needed  to  start  when 
she  did." 


300  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Perhaps  the  tangle  of  her  own  unmanageable 
personal  pronouns  brought  her  up  ;  or  perhaps  it 
was  that  in  the  midst  of  their  eager  and  irrelevant 
prancing  the  partial  hush  fell  suddenly  upon  the 
room. 

"  There  he  is,  this  minute !  "  said  young  Mrs. 
Sphyrna  Hammerhead,  touching  Mrs.  Porbeagle  on 
the  elbow. 

"Who?  Why!  — Dr.  Harriman  ?  —  It  isn't! 
she  ejaculated,  brokenly,  with  gasps  of  astonish 
ment,  as  the  gentleman  walked  up  the  room  and 
approached  her.  "  Really,  Dr.  Harriman,  you  're 
like  a  ghost !  Wre  all  thought  you  were  in  Canada ! 
Could  n't  get  away  from  the  '  Benevolent,'  could 
you  ? "  she  asked,  gleaming  upon  him  with  her 
white,  large  teeth. 

"  I  suppose  not,  even  if  I  were  in  Canada,"  Dr. 
Harriman  responded.  "  We  have  the  poor  always 
with  us ;  so,  I  fancy,  we  shall  always  have  the 
benevolent !  No  ;  I  did  not  go  to-day.  I  was  pre 
vented." 

Even  that  did  not  quite  checkmate  her.  "  I 
wonder  what  it  actually  all  does  mean  !  "  she  ex 
claimed,  sotto  voce,  to  Sphyrna  Hammerhead,  as 
he  passed  on. 

He  stayed  for  fifteen  minutes  in  the  rooms ; 
drank  a  cup  of  coffee  ;  then  when  the  charades 
were  going  to  begin,  he  disappeared ;  took  the 


"  THE  BENEV."  301 

7.50  train  for  town,  and  rendered  himself  at  Mrs. 
Rextell's  house  in  Mount  Vernon  Street,  where  he 
asked  to  see  Miss  Haven,  and  told  her  all  the  story. 

u  I  used  your  name,"  he  said  ;  "  the  whole  of  it, 
to  be  impressive.  Now  somebody  must  go  to  her. 
If  nothing  else  can  be  done,  I  will  write  to  my 
mother  and  sister  in  Ottawa.  They  will  go  down. 
It  is  only  a  three  hours'  run." 

"  Mrs.  Rextell  and  her  daughter  will  go  to 
morrow.  We  only  needed  the  address,  and  the 
certainty  of  her  stopping  in  Montreal." 

His  errand  was  accomplished ;  he  got  up  to  go ; 
Miss  Haven  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 

"  You  have  done  most  'wisely,  most  generously, 
Dr.  Harriman.  Your  sleep  should  be  sweet  to 
night,"  she  said,  upon  the  threshold,  giving  him 
her  hand  with  warmth.  He  only  pressed  it,  smiled 
a  little  curiously,  and  with  bowed  leave-taking, 
went  away. 

It  may  not  be  invariably  after  our  most  generous 
deeds,  however,  that  sleep  comes  most  easily,  or  is 
most  sweet. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MAISON    DE   LA    SAINTE    ESPERANCE. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  steady  rush  of  the 
train  bore  Rill  further  from  home  toward  the 
strange,  cold  north,  she  had  time  to  realize  the  irrev- 
ocableness  of  what  she  had  done.  She  would  not 
change  it,  if  she  could ;  but  she  perceived  its  grav 
ity  more  clearly ;  and  it  needed  all  her  brave 
determination  to  keep  up  against  a  growing  sense 
of  loneliness,  and  a  vague  stir  of  apprehension. 
Up  through  the  wintry  stillness  of  the  hills,  across 
the  ice-bound  rivers,  springing  or  skirting  valley- 
depths  where  farming  villages  lay  quiet  as  little 
cemeteries  with  their  white-roofed  barns  and  dwell 
ings,  and  idle  mill  wheels  dripped  with  great  stal 
actites  —  into  the  edges  of  large  busy  towns,  through 
dreary  stations  where,  in  short  pause,  the  scattered 
wayfarers  alighted  and  embarked  —  she  watched 
the  shifting  scenes,  and  measured  both  outward 
distances  and  the  quick,  strange  experience  of  the 
hours.  Space  and  time  confused  her.  Where  was 
yesterday  ? 


MAISON  DE  LA  SAINTE  ESPERANCE.      303 

As  far  as  St.  Albans  she  had  the  undisturbed 
monotony  of  travel.  The  early  dusk  had  long 
fallen,  and  with  the  shadows  loomed  misgiving  of 
the  night  arrival  —  anxiety  about  being  met  and 
cared  for.  She  could  but  be  thankful  for  the 
friendliness  that  had  made  probable  provision  for 
all  this  ;  and  she  congratulated  herself  that  there 
would  be  no  trouble  of  any  intermediate  move. 
She  sat  back  in  her  chair,  determined  to  take  such 
comfort  as  she  could,  and  one  thing  at  a  time ;  to 
turn  from  all  disquieting  thought  of  that  which 
was  done  with,  or  might  be  to  come. 

Suddenly,  the  porter,  who  had  been  very  civil  all 
the  way,  came  and  laid  hand  upon  her  bag  and 
wrap.  "  We  stop  here  ;  this  car  goes  no  farther," 
he  told  her ;  "  I  will  see  you  to  your  place  on  the 
other  train." 

Without  time  for  question  she  had  to  follow  him, 
half  blindly,  through  a  dimly  lighted  space  from 
crowded  track  to  track,  into  a  very  ordinary  and 
ill-contrasting  car  indeed.  It  was  half  full,  and 
filling  up,  with  men  ;  whatever  might  be  the  reason 
or  occasion,  they  seemed  all  of  one  stamp,  —  a 
common  and  disorderly  set ;  a  great  jabbering  of 
Canadian  patois  was  growing  clamorous  around 
her ;  and  as  she  took  the  seat  offered  her,  she 
shrank  with  sudden  dismay  at  perceiving  that  there 
was  actually  no  other  feminine  occupant  of  the 
whole  carriage. 


304  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  invol 
untarily,  to  her  escort. 

"  You  will  be  quite  safe,"  was  the  answer.  "  It 
is  all  right.  I  expect  I  may  run  down  on  this  train 
myself.  I  '11  look  out  for  you  at  the  door  of  the 
car  when  we  arrive."  With  that,  he  left  her. 
Whether  this  was  a  sudden  determination,  induced 
by  a  promise  to  Dr.  Harriman  which  that  gentle 
man  had  made  well  worth  while,  or  to  what  pecu 
liar  railway  arrangements  all  these  strange  circum 
stances  were  due,  I  will  not  undertake  to  say,  and 
Cyrilla  did  not  conjecture. 

It  seemed  a  great  while  before  the  train  started ; 
something  was  evidently  out  of  the  usual  course ; 
when  they  did  move,  the  boisterous  passengers 
settled  into  their  seats,  and  she  breathed  for  a  time 
more  quietly.  She  was  just  reassuring  herself  in 
a  comparative  confidence,  when  all  at  once  a  crash 
just  behind  her  startled  her  half  way  to  her  feet. 
Splintered  glass  and  drops  of  coal  oil  fell  around 
her  ;  over  there,  two  seats  off,  the  conductor  and  a 
passenger  were  in  an  angry  tussle  ;  every  man  in 
the  car  was  up,  and  hurrying  to  the  point  of  ex 
citement  ;  all  but  one  old,  gray-haired  Frenchman, 
far  down  toward  the  front. 

"  Oh,  let  me  pass  !  "  cried  Cyrilla,  to  those  im 
mediately  obstructing  her  ;  and  made  her  way 
forward  to  a  place  behind  the  one  quiet  person. 


MAISON  DE  LA  SAINTE  ESPEEANCE. 

He  turned  to  her  kindly,  as  she  took  her  seat. 
"  Have  no  fear,  mademoiselle,"  he  said  to  her. 
"  But  what  is  it  that  has  happened  there?" 

She  began  in  reply,  "  I  hardly  know.  I  only 
saw  "  —  when  the  word  was,  as  it  were,  snatched 
from  her  by  a  rough  voice  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  you  saw,  did  you  ?  " 

Startled,  and  with  sudden  foreboding,  as  the 
thought  flashed  swiftly  upon  her  of  a  police  court, 
evidence,  she  knew  not  what,  —  "  Nothing  at  all, 
sir  !  "  she  answered,  with  a  very  determined  brev 
ity,  and  relapsed  into  a  rigid  silence,  but  not  for  a 
Ions;  time  into  a  real  calmness. 

o 

Alone,  —  among  such  strange  fellow  -  travelers, 
—  the  deep  night  wearing  on,  —  into  what  had  she 
plunged  herself  ?  What  next  might  befall  to  ter 
rify  or  endanger  her  ?  The  gray  head  before  her 
was  her  only  comfort. 

The  hours  went  by  in  keen  endurance ;  it  was 
very  late.  The  train  was  overdue ;  they  had  lost 
some  time  earlier,  beside  the  long  delay  at  St. 
Albans ;  bells  were  clanging  for  eleven  o'clock 
when  they  steamed  into  the  murky  station-house  at 
Montreal. 

Happily  and  unexpectedly,  the  porter  kept  his 
word  ;  she  drew  a  great  breath  of  thankfulness  as 
his  hand  reached  up  to  help  her  at  the  car-steps. 

He  went  with  her  through  the  train-house  ;  found 


306  A   GOLDEN   GOSSIP. 

the  badged  driver  from  the  St.  James ;  stayed  by 
her  through  the  scramble  of  the  formal,  hurried 
passing  of  inspection.  Then,  a  moment  more,  and 
she  was  out  in  the  brave,  moonlighted  air,  in  an 
open  sledge  heaped  well  with  furry  robes. 

A  large,  square,  corner  room,  with  three  great 
windows  and  a  blazing  fire,  awaited  her ;  ready 
service  was  offered  her ;  a  tray,  with  supper,  was 
brought.  She  ate  and  drank,  as  in  some  queer 
phase  of  a  dream,  and  went  to  bed. 

Early  after  breakfast  the  next  morning,  she 
asked  for  a  carriage  to  be  called. 

"  Maison  de  la  Sainte  Esperance  —  Larmes  des 
Anges  Street,"  she  said  to  the  driver,  who  looked 
down  from  his  box  with  an  odd  expression  of  not 
surely  understanding. 

"  Larmes  des  Anges  Street ! "  repeated  with 
authority  the  hall  servant  who  had  obsequiously 
attended  Cyrilla  to  the  carriage  door.  He  had 
quenched  the  hackman,  but  he  turned  himself  to 
cast  a  curious  glance  after  the  departing  equipage, 
as  he  went  up  the  broad  steps  ;  and  walked  straight 
into  the  hotel  office. 

Narrow,  steeply  sloping,  roughly  paved  streets  ; 
crooked  turn  ;  the  fair,  open  squares  left  far  behind  ; 
mere  rims  of  sidewalk ;  old,  old  houses  of  all  irreg 
ular  heights  and  shapes ;  crowded  sheds,  and  bits 
of  squalid  yard-room  ;  dirty  children,  swarming  and 


MAISON  DE  LA  8AINTE  ESPEBANCE.      307 

staring ;  women's  heads,  with  flapping,  broad-frilled 
caps,  thrust  forward  from  doorways,  where  show 
was  made  with  stumps  of  brooms  of  sweeping  off 
entrances ;  pails  of  darksome  water  thrown  out 
here  and  there  for  final  service  in  rinsing  down  the 
brick  walks  to  the  gutters  ;  everything  gave  evi 
dence  to  Cyrilla  that  she  was  coming  down  among 
the  dregs  of  life  over  which  bright  cities  build 
themselves  and  are  gay. 

A  quieter  turn,  at  last,  into  a  kind  of  court, 
where  a  stinted  plot,  fenced  in,  held  a  few  scant 
trees  in  the  midst ;  a  high-recessed  doorway,  to 
which  a  narrow  flight  of  steps  led  up  ;  muslin  half- 
blinds  at  the  window  ;  a  tin  plate,  neatly  painted, 
"•  Maison  de  la  Sainte  Espcrance." 

Cyrilla's  heart  beat  as  she  rang  the  bell ;  a 
portress,  in  lay-sister's  gai'b,  answered  it ;  Cyrilla 
asked  for  Mere  Marthe.  The  Mother  was  ill.  For 
Sceur  Veronique  ;  Soeur  Veronique  was  in  retreat. 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  see  some  one  !  "  Cyrilla  cried, 
persistent.  "'  I  was  sent  for ;  it  is  urgent.  I  have 
a  friend  here,  ill  ;  she  is  —  her  name  is  —  Raye." 

"  O — h,  it  is,  then,  the  poor  penitent !  She  died, 
three  weeks  ago.  But  I  will  tell  the  Mother. 
Enter,  mademoiselle  ;  rest  here." 

She  showed  the  young  girl  into  a  bai'e,  little 
room  ;  it  had  for  furnishing  a  wooden  table,  and 
four  wooden  chairs  ;  some  prints  of  the  Virgin,  and 


308  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

a  saint  or  two,  upon  the  walls  ;  a  yellow  cat  lying 
on  a  window-ledge,  blinking  great  golden  eyes. 

Presently,  a  Sister  appeared  at  the  doorway. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  and  laid  her  fingers  on  her 
lips,  as  Rill  approached.  "  One  does  not  speak  in 
the  corridors,"  she  said,  softly ;  then  turned  and  led 
the  way. 

Several  houses  had  been  thrown  into  one  estab 
lishment  ;  there  were  dark  passages,  steps  up  and 
down  ;  one  long  flight,  and  a  long,  narrow  gallery, 
with  closed  doors  on  each  side  ;  then  an  end  room, 
with  a  pleasant  window  looking  over  open  spaces, 
and  the  sun  shining  in. 

An  elderly  woman,  in  the  gray  gown,  with  knotted 
girdle,  the  white  linen  cap  and  bands,  and  a  large 
rosary  at  her  side,  sat  in  a  plain  wooden  armchair, 
made  more  comfortable  at  the  back  with  a  folded 
gray  blanket. 

"  Approach,  my  child.  It  is  that  I  have  rheu 
matism.  Seat  yourself  here."  And  she  motioned 
to  a  chair  placed  beside  her. 

Cyrilla  came  near  with  a  courteous  movement  of 
salutation.  But  she  delayed  nothing  for  any  possi 
ble  peculiar  etiquette  of  the  place,  or  any  strange 
ness  of  the  circumstances.  She  went  straight  to 
her  errand. 

"  I  am  here,"  she  said,  "  to  make  inquiry  about 
some  one  —  Mrs.  Raye  —  who  has  been  ill  here." 


MAISON  DE  LA  SAJNTE  ESP&RANCE.      309 

"  It  was  not  the  name  she  called  herself  when 
she  first  arrived.  But  that  matters  not.  We 
found  it,  afterwards,  among  some  things.  She 
died  ;  she  was  penitent ;  she  received  the  consolation 
of  the  church ;  she  expected  some  one." 

"  She  expected  me." 

"  If  not,  the  little  box  was  to  be  sent.  I  have 
guarded  it."  Mother  Marthe  laid  her  finger  upon 
a  small  bell  beside  her,  on  the  table.  Kill  reached 
forward  her  own  hand. 

"  If  you  please  —  wait !  Of  what  did  she  re 
pent?" 

"  My  child,  it  was  of  all  her  life  !  " 

Rill  grew  paler  and  paler.  "  What  was  all  her 
life?  "  she  demanded.  "  I  must  know." 

"  Poor  little  one  !  but  it  is  that  which  you  cannot 
know.  Indeed,  it  was  the  life  of  the  blessed  Saint 
Mary  Magdalene,  before  she  came  to  the  Christ ! " 

"  My  mother  !  " 

The  brief  sentences  before  had  been  in  French. 
These  two  words  broke  forth  in  Rill's  own  tongue. 
She  covered  her  face.  The  good  Mother  leaned 
toward  her,  and  laid  a  kind  hand  on  her  head. 
She  spoke  to  her  with  gentle,  religious  words.  "  It 
is  absolved.  We  pray  for  her.  Solace  yourself. 
The  Holy  Magdalene  takes  part  with  her.  They 
are  together  at  the  feet  of  Christ." 

"  I  never  knew  it ;  all  these  years !  It  was  a 
wickedness." 


310  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  It  was  God's  will.  You  were  not  meant  to 
know  ;  you  have  been  kept  safe." 

"  Safe  !  —  And  why  have  I  been  '  meant  to  know ' 
—  too  late  !  "  Her  words  were  bitter. 

"  That  also  is  God's  will.  It  is  for  cause  of 
some  other  thing  in  your  life,  perhaps,  that  you  do 
not  know  yet,  even.  Nothing  is  too  late."  The 
Mother  touched  her  bell.  The  Sister  who  had  led 
Rill  hither,  entered. 

"  The  little  box,"  said  Mother  Marthe. 

It  was  a  shabby,  old-fashioned  thing,  of  paste 
board  and  painted  velvet.  Inside  were  a  few  trink 
ets  :  a  chain  of  coral,  a  mosaic  pin,  with  —  the 
pity  !  —  a  white  lily  for  design  ;  a  wedding  ring  ; 
a  creased,  worn  paper  folded  into  a  small  square, 
the  name  "  Kill "  written  upon  it  in  ink  faded  to  a 
rusty  faintness.  Cyrilla  opened  it,  as  one  forced. 
It  held  a  round,  soft,  yellow  lock  of  a  child's  hair. 
She  had  kept  that,  all  through  !  The  ring  was 
marked  inside  —  "  M.  R.  to  E.  B."  There  was  a 
date  of  twenty  years  before. 

Cyrilla  laid  all  back,  silently.  There  was  no 
doubt,  now.  She  stood  up,  with  the  queer  little 
box  in  her  hand.  "  I  must  go,"  she  said.  "There 
is  nothing  to  do  here.  I  must  get  —  back."  She 
could  not  say  u  home."  I  must  find  out  where 
home  is  to  be,"  she  thought,  vaguely. 

"  I  ought  to  thank  you,"  she  roused  to  say.     "  I 


MAISON  DE  LA  SAINTE  ESPEEANCE.      311 

owe  you  very  much.  I  will  write  to  you.  I  will 
send  something  for  your  House  of  Hope.  Good- 
by!" 

The  Mother  looked  at  her  wistfully ;  murmured 
some  invocation  of  blessing,  but  perceived  no  more 
that  she  could  do ;  and  Rill,  moving  mechanically, 
followed  the  silent  Sister  who  waited  to  lead  her 
out.  She  got  to  the  street  again,  as  one  walking 
with  dull  effort  in  a  dream  ;  reentered  the  carriage, 
and  was  driven  back  to  the  St.  James. 

She  found  her  way  in,  and  up  to  her  room, 
alone  ;  no  obsequious  attention  met  her ;  but  pres 
ently  a  clerk  came  to  her  door,  and  asked  her  when 
she  expected  the  friends  who  were  to  arrive,  and 
what  rooms  they  would  require. 

"  I  expect  no  friends." 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  in  mutual  surprise. 

"  I  shall  take  the  afternoon  train  for  Boston." 

The  man  bowed  slightly,  and  went  away.  In  a 
moment  a  maid  came  and  asked  her,  with  scant 
deference,  if  she  would  mind  having  her  trunk 
taken  down  to  another  room,  since  she  was  to  leave 
directly.  This  would  be  wanted,  if  she  pleased. 

She  was  put  into  a  dim  little  one-windowed 
place,  opening  upon  the  court.  She  went  to  the 
dining-room  at  the  lunch  hour,  and  tried  to  eat,  for 
she  felt  faint  and  ill.  Then  she  had  to  wait  two 
hours  and  a  half  alone,  in  the  dim  little  room. 


312  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

At  half  past  four  she  was  at  the  station.  She 
put  herself  on  board  the  train,  and  found  her 
number  in  the  sleeping-car.  She  begged  the  porter 
to  make  up  her  berth  as  soon  as  possible  ;  but  for 
some  time  longer  the  seats  were  needed,  and  it  was 
eight  o'clock  before  she  could  lie  down  to  rest. 
A  thick,  soft  snow  had  been  falling  for  two  hours, 
but  she  did  not  know  of  that. 

Meanwhile,  another  Boston  telegram  had  been 
received  at  the  St.  James,  and  the  spacious,  cheer 
ful  corner  room,  and  one  adjoining,  en  suite,  were 
being  prepared  in  reserve  for  Mrs.  and  Miss  Rex- 
tell,  to  arrive  to-night. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

NUMBER   TY-TWO    MOUNT   VERNON    STREET. 

CYRILLA  could  not  sleep.  The  best  she  could  do 
was  to  hold  herself  outwardly  still,  and  let  the 
night  go  over  her.  The  car  was  full.  She  lay  and 
thought  how  strange  the  isolation  of  human  crea 
tures  is. 

Here  were  some  twoscore  souls,  in  close  com 
munity  and  limit ;  in  their  present  circumstance 
the  same,  yet  utterly  disintegrant ;  knowing,  ask 
ing,  caring  nothing  of  each  other's  lives ;  certain 
to  fly  apart  on  divergent  lines  the  moment  their 
common  point  was  reached.  Would  it  be  like  that 
in  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  ?  Would  nobody  in 
that  multitude  ask  how  it  fared  with  any  other,  or 
seek  to  touch  a  sympathy,  or  render  a  help  ?  Hu 
manity  was  a  queer  thing.  If  it  were  not  for  small 
personal  link  and  place,  it  would  be  a  huge  in 
sanity. 

And  where,  now,  were  her  own  link  and  place  ? 

She  had  had  so  little  to  hold  by  ;  yet,  by  that 
little,  she  had  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  something 


314  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

larger  ;  she  had  neighborhood  and  a  life.  Now, 
she  had  broken  away  from  all.  She  had  not  aunt 
Amelia  ;  she  could  not  have  her  any  more.  How 
could  she  forgive  her  for  that  other  life  cast  adrift 
and  never  searched  for  ?  For  the  robbing  of  it, 
that  had  been  the  taking  and  keeping  of  herself, 
in  ignorance  ?  She  belonged  to  no  one.  The 
unreal  past  was  swept  away.  With  it  had  gone  a 
beautiful  half  dream  of  a  future.  She  could  not 
look  at  that.  She  hid  the  eyes  of  her  thought,  and 
thrust  it  from  her. 

She  must  go  somewhere  when  she  reached  Bos 
ton.  Where,  and  with  what  account  of  herself  ? 
She  was  a  detached  particle.  She  had  no  relation 
with  the  world.  She  was  an  atom  against  a  uni 
verse. 

Pier  head  ached,  her  thoughts  grew  wandering. 
"Was  she  going  to  be  ill  ? 

The  train  stopped.  At  some  station,  of  course. 
It  would  go  on  in  a  minute.  But  a  great  many 
minutes  went  by,  and  she  began  to  wonder.  There 
were  quick  footsteps  through  the  car  ;  a  lantern 
flashed  back  and  forth.  She  parted  her  curtains 
and  looked  out.  Other  faces  were  looking  out 
also. 

"  Halloo  !  What  's  this  ?  "  a  man  asked  of  a 
brakeman,  who  hurried  through. 

"  Breakdown,   just  ahead.     Freight   train.     En- 


NUMBER TV  TWO  MOUNT  VERNON  ST.    815 

gine  and  three  cars  half  way  down  to  the  river,  in 
the  mud." 

"  Where  are  we  ?  "  somebody  else  took  up  the 
inquiry,  further  on. 

"  Two  or  three  miles  from  White  River  Junc 
tion."  And  the  door  at  the  farther  end  slammed 
a  period  to  the  words. 

Rill  reached  her  watch  out  into  the  light.  The 
hands  pointed  to  half  past  one.  She  lay  back  and 
tried  to  be  quiet.  There  were  voices  and  confused 
movements  for  a  while,  a  busy  passing  to  and  fro 
outside  ;  then  it  grew  still.  The  trouble  and  the 
work  were  far  ahead  ;  here,  there  was  nothing  to 
do  but  wait.  Waiting  and  listening,  she  fell  into 
a  half  sleep,  and  hours  went  by. 

The  dull  gray  morning  came,  and  found  them 
there.  Five  hours  lost.  They  crept  slowly  toward 
White  River  Junction  at  just  the  time  when  they 
were  scheduled  due  at  their  journey's  end. 

Rill  had  eaten  nothing  since  her  slight  lunch  the 
day  before.  She  had  one  orange  and  two  or  three 
little  biscuits  in  her  bag.  People  were  asking  and 
answering  questions  about  the  probable  start,  and 
concerning  breakfast.  Everything  was  in  confu 
sion  ;  tracks  crowded  ;  they  stopped  far  outside 
the  station.  Trains  up  and  down  were  blocked ; 
theirs  must  wait  for  the  regular  morning  express 
from  St.  Albans,  and  go  down  with  that.  Break- 


316  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

fast  might  be  had  at  a  farmhouse  up  yonder  hill. 
The  snow  was  falling  fast ;  it  was  many  inches 
deep  already.  Rill  followed  a  party  of  the  pas 
sengers  from  the  ear,  and  out  upon  the  track  side. 
If  she  could  only  go  and  get  something  hot.  She 
was  faint  for  food,  and  her  throat  was  dry  and 
aching.  But  her  feet  began  to  be  damp  directly, 
and  it  was  a  long  way  up  the  untrodden  hill.  Some 
men  came  back  who  had  been  to  the  farmhouse. 
"  Not  much  of  anything  there,"  she  heard  them 
say.  "  Pretty  hard  truck,  what  there  is  of  it." 
She  turned  back  and  climbed  into  the  car.  The 
berths  were  folded  away,  and  the  seats  arranged. 
She  must  rest  as  best  she  could,  and  it  was  so  hard 
to  sit  up !  She  ate  her  orange,  but  the  biscuits 
were  dry  and  irritating.  How  long  would  it  be, 
and  how  should  she  hold  out  ? 

"  St.  Albans  train  due  here  at  twelve.  We  '11 
get  to  Boston  at  half  past  six,  if  we  have  all  the 
luck  there  's  left."  That  was  what  some  one  said 
presently,  who  came  in  behind  her.  Rill  leaned 
back  her  head  and  shut  her  eyes.  The  tears  filled 
their  lids.  "  You  poor  thing  !  "  she  said  to  herself, 
pityingly.  "  No  one  knows  ;  and  for  that  reason 
you  have  got  to  keep  up  !  "  So  she  instantly  re 
buked  and  compelled  herself. 

She  held  out  in  her  determination  not  to  go  back 
to  Wewachet.  Indeed,  she  would  scarcely  be  able 


NUMBER TY-TWO  MOUNT  VEENON  ST.    317 

to  do  so  now,  upon  her  late  arrival.  What  then  ? 
A  hotel  ?  She  recoiled  from  the  idea  ;  she  had  ex 
perienced  enough  in  that  sort.  And  if  she  should 
be  unable,  once  in  bed,  to  be  up  again  to-morrow  ! 
Would  they  let  her  have  a  room  at  the  Christian 
Association  ?  She  thought  so  ;  that  was  what  it 
was  for,  a  resource  in  such  emergencies.  Yet, 
again,  if  she  should  be  ill?  And  truly  she  was  ill 
enough  already. 

She  gave  up,  at  last,  on  one  point.  She  went 
into  the  telegraph  office  before  they  left  White 
River,  and  sent  a  message  to  Miss  Haven.  "  On 
my  way  to  Boston.  Train  delayed.  Arrive  6.30. 
Please  meet  and  advise  me." 

Miss  Haven  was  in  town  ;  Mr.  King  was  not. 
Miss  Haven  would  see  her  safe  ;  afterward  she 
could  think  what  to  do. 

Miss  Haven  had  had  an  earlier  dispatch.  The 
wires  had  been  lively  along  the  line.  While  Rill 
grew  more  and  more  ill  and  troubled  as  the  train 
made  its  slow,  hindered  progress,  all  order  un 
hinged,  stations  blocked  with  waiting  cars,  engines 
snorting  on  all  the  sidings,  reckoning  changing 
hour  by  hour  —  the  august  Melcombe  had  been  up 
and  down  between  the  railroad  offices  and  Beacon 
Hill,  watching  and  reporting  the  successive  delays 
of  belated  No.  50. 

When  at  last,  at  half  past  ten,  poor  Rill  mus- 


318  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

tered  her  remaining  strength  to  pick  up  shawl  and 
bag-,  and  stumble  forth  upon  the  platform  of  the 
Pullman,  half  blinded  by  a  weak  dizziness  —  be 
wildered  with  rush  and  stun  —  she  distinguished 
nothing  ;  she  only  kept  fast  hold  of  one  intention 
and  rehearsed  order  —  "  To  the  Christian  Associa 
tion  ;  "  and  when  kind  arms  were  put  about  her, 
and  some  deferent  hand  took  wrap  and  satchel 
from  her,  she  saw  nothing  of  the  gray-haired, 
distinguished  serving-man,  and  barely  recognized 
Miss  Haven's  tender  voice.  "  Will  you  take  me 
to  the  Young  Women's  Christian  Association  ?  " 
was  all  she  said. 

"  Poor  child !  of  course  I  will.  I  '11  see  you 
safe." 

And  the  dear,  prevaricating  woman,  as  she  al 
most  lifted  Rill  into  the  carriage,  said  exoneratively 
in  her  own  mind,  "  Christian  Association  !  Wher 
ever  else  there  may  be  one  in  Boston,  I  know 

there  's  one  at  number  ty-two  Mount  Vernon 

Street !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

LIFE    IS    NEVER    OVER. 

MRS.  REXTELL  and  Margaret  returned  the  next 
day.  A  fresh  illustration  of  the  difficult  problems 
of  hotel  keeping  had  enlarged  the  already  wide  ex 
perience  of  the  clerk  of  the  St.  James.  Mrs.  Rex- 
tell  had  made  her  first  inquiry  as  she  was  being 
ushered  to  the  corner  room,  and  had  sent  down 
instant  word  that  the  heavy  trunks  need  not  be 
brought  upstairs.  "  Since  Miss  Raye  is  not  here, 
we  shall  leave  in  the  morning,"  she  said. 

And  a  few  minutes  after,  she  had  rung  her  bell 
and  dispatched  the  telegram  which  Miss  Haven 
had  received  at  breakfast. 

The  next  afternoon,  without  having  seen  Cyrilla, 
Miss  Bonable  went  home.  "  I  'in  neither  nurse  nor 
patient,"  she  said.  "  I  have  n't  the  pi-ivilege  of 
the  sick-room,  and  I  can't  stay  here,  outside." 

"  Dear  Miss  Bonable,  she  could  n't  bear  it  now. 
But  it  will  all  come  right."  So  Miss  Haven  took 
her  down  to  the  train  and  bade  her  good-by. 

Miss  Bonable  said  her  own  sentence  over  in  her 


320  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

mind,  as  Rill  had   conned  to  herself  against  her 

O 

bewilderment  that  inquiry  for  the  Christian  Asso 
ciation.  "  She  's  with  the  Rextells  in  Boston. 
They  've  all  been  off  on  some  sort  of  a  jaunt.  I 
stopped  with  Miss  Haven  while  they  were  away." 

She  said  it  to  half  a  dozen  people  before  she  got 
to  Wewachet  and  Brook  Lane  ;  and  nothing  but 
that,  or  some  slight  variation  of  its  wording,  could 
be  gotten  out  of  her.  When  one  or  two  adventur 
ously  pushed  the  inquiry  "  Where  ?  "  she  answered 
them,  "  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  up  country  somewhere, 
to  see  the  snow  ; "  and  then  nipped  her  own  arm 
secretly,  inside  her  muff,  or  trod  vindictively  upon 
one  tender  foot  with  the  boot-heel  of  her  other,  for 
the  evasion. 

At  the  cottage,  Clementhy  Pond  opened  the  door. 

"  She  's  in  Boston  —  with  the  Rextells.  They  've 
been  off  —  I  stopped  with  Miss  Haven  —  she  '11 
be  back,  —  there,  let  me  go  upstairs  !  " 

The  day  following  was  Sunday.  Miss  Amelia 
went  to  church.  She  put  on  her  handsome  new 
winter  suit  that  Cyrilla  and  Miss  Haven  had  per 
suaded  her  into  buying.  They  had  persuaded  her 
into  several  things  of  late. 

People  said  Miss  Bonable  had  grown  handsome 
since  her  illness.  She  had  been  growing  handsome 
—  as  such  women  do  who  are  not  beauties  in  their 
youth,  but  who  have  the  soul  of  beauty  in  them  — 


LIFE  IS  NEVER   OVER.  321 

for  twenty  years,  only  she  would  never  let  it  ap 
pear.  To-day,  she  would  show  a  brave  outside  ; 
nobody  should  guess  her  trouble,  or  the  anxious 
pain  with  which  she  waited,  while  she  faced  the 
wondering  little  worshiping  world  of  Wewachet 
in  her  sealskin  cloak  and  her  brown  plush  bonnet 
with  the  cluster  of  poppy-buds  above  the  brim, 
and  her  soft  hair,  that  yet  matched  the  plush  and 
seal  where  the  light  bronzed  them,  gently  crimped 
below.  The  hair  was  parted  —  she  despised  a  bang 
—  but  it  lay  in  softening  waves  and  little  escaping 
curly  tips  about  her  brow.  "  I  '11  act  easy-minded," 
she  said,  "at  any  rate." 

So  she  met  her  acquaintances  in  the  porch  and 
aisle,  and  on  the  street,  and  said  her  say  as  the 
minister  had  said  his  text ;  a  thing  chosen  before 
hand.  I  am  afraid  she  forgot  the  text  while  she 
remembered  her  own  lesson,  and  rung  the  little 
changes  on  it  after  she  had  heard  the  sermon. 

At  home  again,  Clementhy  met  her  with  a  note, 
and  a  bunch  of  roses.  A  man  had  brought  them 
from  the  Rextell  place,  she  said.  The  note  had 
been  sent  from  Boston,  soon  after  breakfast. 

"  We  think  Cyrilla  in  no  present  danger,  but  she 
needs  entire  quiet  and  great  care.  You  shall  know 
from  day  to  day.  Trust  me  with  her  for  a  little 
while  ;  try  to  be  patient.  You  have  borne  so 
much  ;  bear  yet  a  little  more  ;  it  must  all  come 
right.  E.  P.  H." 


322  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  And  there 's  a  gentleman  in  the  parlor ;  he 
called  Friday.  I  did  n't  tell  you  sooner,  for  I 
kind  o'  thought  you  might  as  well  have  one  thing 
to  a  time,"  said  Clementhy  Pond. 

The  two  women  had  come  into  the  little  sitting- 
room.  Clementhy  had  lighted  the  laid  fire  in  the 
north  parlor  fireplace,  and  shut  the  door  upon  the 
visitor  there.  Miss  Bonable  would  be  back  "  im- 
mejutly  after  church,"  she  had  told  him. 

Clementhy  retired  to  her  kitchen,  and  to  the 
plump  chicken  she  was  basting  so  delicately  brown 
for  dinner.  Amelia  Bonable  crossed  the  hall  and 
opened  the  parlor  door.  She  had  the  roses,  tea- 
pink  and  buff  and  creamy-white,  in  her  hands. 

A  tall,  broad,  fine-countenanced  man,  in  unex 
ceptional  dress  worn  with  an  accustomed  ease, 
stood  facing  her.  Deep,  handsome,  hazel -gray 
eyes  looked  out  upon  her  from  under  brows  bent 
level  with  an  habitually  keen,  perceptive  intelli 
gence.  Two  strong  hands  were  reached  forward 
to  her,  as  their  owner  made  two  quick,  decisive 
steps  to  meet  her.  The  roses  all  fell,  sweet  and 
scattered,  on  the  floor. 

"  Amy  !  " 

"  Mark !  " 

So,  after  the  sixteen  years,  they  met  again. 
With  a  great  flood  of  color  rushing  over  her  face 
and  sweeping  swiftly  back,  she  clung  to  the  grasp 


LIFE  IS  NEVER   OVER.  323 

of  his  hands,  and  cried  out,  —  her  voice  sharp  with 
sudden  release  of  pain,  her  lesson  still  struggling, 
mechanically,  with  more  spontaneous  words, — 
"  Oh,  Mark  !  She  is  in  Boston.  She  's  been  away. 
A  little  jaunt  "  —  she  laughed  with  a  tearful 
catch,  and  the  truth  broke  forth.  "  Mark  !  Mark ! 
She 's  been  —  alone  —  to  Canada !  Loraine  wrote 
to  her.  She 's  come  back  sick,  and  I  can't  be  with 
hsr.  She  won't  forgive  me,  for  she  don't  know! 
And  I  was  hard  with  her,  for  I  was  so  afraid  !  " 

"  Loraine  !  "  ejaculated  the  man,  with  a  stern 
emphasis,  seizing  but  one  point  in  the  interjected 
statement. 

"  Loraine  is  dead."  She  said  that  slowly.  He 
had  let  go  her  hands. 

A  great  light  rose  up  strangely  in  Mark  Raye's 
face.  It  was  not  a  flash,  a  joy,  an  exultation  :  it 
was  a  solemn  sunrise.  He  did  not  say  a  word  ; 
but  his  eyes  looked  down,  with  that  deep  glow 
in  them,  and  sought  Amelia's.  She  lifted  hers, 
softly ;  they  were  young  and  sweet,  as  they  filled 
with  the  shining  that  came  from  his.  He  did  not 
touch  her  ;  he  did  not  speak  ;  they  stood  quiet  and 
awed,  as  under  some  supreme  announcement  and 
benediction. 

Then,  presently,  he  stooped  down  at  her  feet. 
"  You  have  dropped  all  your  roses ;  "  and  saying 
that,  began  to  gather  them  together.  She  waited 


824  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

till  lie  stood  up  and  put  them  in  her  hands.  "  I 
wish  I  could  do  that  with  all  that  has  dropped  out 
of  your  life,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  Mark !  "  she  answered,  "  I  have  been 
wicked.  I  have  felt  as  if  I  were  somebody  that 
had  died.  I  have  talked  about  '  when  I  was 
alive.'  And  life  is  never  over !  " 

"  Never  more  than  just  begun,  Amy  !  " 

Nothing  plainer  than  that  was  said ;  but  angels' 
speech  could  not  be  plainer. 

They  ate  their  Sunday  dinner  together ;  and 
Clementhy  went  about  serving  them  in  a  kind  of 
homely  rapture  that  came  of  an  instinct  of  some 
wonderful,  heavenly  thing,  she  knew  not  what. 
"  It  was  like  carrying  round  the  Sacrament !  "  she 
said  to  herself  in  the  kitchen  while  she  washed  the 
dishes. 

Afterward,  they  talked  much  of  Cyrilla.  "  If 
she  will  only  get  well,  and  understand,  and  forgive 
me,"  Amelia  said. 

"  She  will  have  to  forgive  you.  She  will  have 
to  forgive  us  both  together." 

"  I  have  watched  her,  and  kept  her  down  ;  I  was 
looking  out  always  for  the  Braitvvay  in  her ;  and 
all  the  time  she  has  been  clear  Raye  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

AT   THE    CEDARS. 

IT  was  many  days  before  Cyrilla  could  be  al 
lowed  to  enter  into  details  on  her  own  part,  or  re 
ceive  any  detailed  information,  such  as  Miss  Haven 
was  reserving  only  for  the  first  right  moment,  or 
such  as  present  events  were  making  ready  for  her 
hearing. 

Even  in  Wewachet  it  had  not  become  known 
that  Miss  Bonable  had  been  visited  by  a  strange 
guest ;  far  less  had  any  idea  drifted  into  its  atmos 
phere  that  there  was  on  the  earth  any  one  who 
might  appear  there  with  such  surprise  and  sig 
nificance.  Mr.  Raye  had  a  few*  days'  business  in 
New  York ;  and  had  wisely  gone  away  to  do  it. 

It  had  been  hard  to  persuade  Cyrilla  to  rest  easy 
in  the  kind  keeping  of  the  Rextells.  In  those  first 
hours,  she  had  told  Miss  Haven,  with  bitter  pain, 
the  bare  facts,  which  Miss  Bonable  had  thus  had  it 
in  her  power  to  announce  to  Marcus  Raye  ;  then, 
with  only  the  often-urged  entreaty  to  be  put  some 
where,  to  have  a  place  found  for  her  where  she 


326  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

could  with  a  clear  right  stay,  and  the  protest  that 
she  belonged  to  nobody  now,  and  could  let  nobody 
be  mixed  up  with  her  any  more,  she  relapsed  into 
a  kind  of  passive  reticence,  and  lay  hour  after  hour 
in  a  mere  weakness  and  forced  endurance.  Miss 
Bonable's  name  agitated  her  dangerously.  "  She 
meant  right  by  me,  and  I  ought  to  remember  it. 
But  she  did  wrong  —  wrong !  How  could  she  give 
her  sister  up  I  " 

"  Perhaps  there  are  things  in  the  whole  story 
that  you  do  not  know  ;  what  you  have  to  do  now  is 
to  get  strong,  and  to  let  us  help  you.  Then  the 
meaning  of  all  this,  and  your  own  part  and  duty, 
may  appear." 

Miss  Haven  spoke  with  a  grave,  tender  author 
ity.  It  reminded  Rill  of  Mother  Marthe's  word, 
"  Because  of  some  other  thing  in  your  life  that 
you  do  not  know  of  yet,  perhaps,  this  has  been  let 
come  to  you  so  late."  It  was  all  a  distressful 
puzzle ;  she  could  see  nothing  clear  ;  she  had  not 
light  enough  to  believe  by. 

Yet  her  strong,  young  physical  powers  asserted 
themselves;  in  ten  days  she  was  able  to  be  up; 
and  then  Mrs.  Kextell  said,  "  We  will  all  go  to 
Wewachet  and  keep  Christmas.  After  that,  we 
will  make  plans." 

Mrs.  Rextell  always  carried  all  her  own  way. 
Even  if  one  meant  finally  to  contradict  her,  one 


AT  THE  CEDARS.  327 

had  to  be  swept  a  little  distance  first  by  the  cur 
rent  of  her  vigorous,  kindly  intent.  Cyrilla  had 
at  last  yielded  herself  as  one  simply  befriended  in 
a  need,  to  the  care  given  to  her  illness  ;  inwardly, 
she  set  herself  in  a  stern  new  attitude  to  these 
friends  who  had  become  so  dear.  She  could  not 
be  of  them  any  more,  —  she,  the  daughter  of  a  Mag 
dalen.  It  was  even  in  this  very  spirit  of  utter 
humbling  that  she  accepted  kindness  from  them  as 
pure  favor,  for  a  while.  She  confessed  herself  an 
object  of  the  gentle  charity  that  sought  out  such 
and  benefited  them.  But  she  meant  to  be  very 
proud  —  to  loneliness  —  in  her  own  way,  by  and 
by! 

Rill  absolutely  resisted  the  Wewachet  plan  at 
first.  "  I  am  able  to  go  somewhere  else,"  she  said. 
"  I  do  not  belong  with  you." 

Miss  Haven  passed  that  over.  She  only  asked 
her,  "  What  level,  then,  do  you  propose  to  seek  ?  " 
and  to  that,  Hill  could  say  nothing. 

"  But  how  can  I  go  so  near  Miss  Bonable,  not 
meaning  to  go  home  to  her  ?  I  do  not  wish  "  — 

"  To  hurt,  or  to  insult  her.  No,  indeed.  Rill, 
I  can  but  assure  you  of  one  thing.  If  you  do  not 
let  yourself  be  guided  in  this,  you  will  find  that 
you  ou"'ht  to  have  done  so.  You  are  in  a  dark 

•/  O 

place.  Give  me  your  hand,  and  I  will  lead  you 
out.  I  will  show  you  where  you  are,  which  is  what 


328  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

you  do  not  know.  But  your  eyes  will  not  bear  all 
the  light  at  once.  Believe  me." 

Kill  misunderstood  her  strangely.  She  remem 
bered  that  other  word,  "  Believe  in  me,  as  I  believe 
in  you."  For  fear  of  the  very  betrayal  that  resist 
ance  would  be,  she  reserved  her  protest.  It  did  not 
matter  much.  If  she  could  not  escape,  she  could 
face  and  settle  the  crises  of  her  unhappy  circum 
stance.  In  all  their  talks,  no  word  had  been 
spoken  of  Putnam  King.  He  was  away,  upon 
those  professional  errands ;  he  had  been  out  to 
Duluth,  and  down  to  St.  Louis,  across  to  Washing 
ton,  back  to  Boston,  and  away  to  Washington 
again  with  Mr.  Arbicon.  In  the  midst  of  his  work 
he  found  unwonted  time  to  write  to  aunt  Elizabeth, 
tell  her  of  his  doings,  and  ask  the  news  of  Wewa- 
chet.  How  much  or  how  little,  therefore,  he  might 
know  of  befallings  there,  rested  with  the  golden 
gossip ;  and  she  assumed  it  to  be  quite  her  own 
business. 

They  went  out  to  "  The  Cedars."  It  was  a  mile 
away  from  Wewachet  village,  and  half  as  far,  in 
another  direction,  from  Brook  Lane.  Perhaps  no 
body  need  know. 

The  large  low  house  was  warmed  and  lighted. 
One  beautiful  mullioned  window  shone  with  amber 
and  crimson  panes,  like  a  flash  of  jewels. 

Mrs.    Jollis    met    them,    smiling,    at    the    door. 


AT  THE  CEDARS.  329 

"Miss  Raye  is  tired,"  Mrs.  Rextell  said.  "We 
will  go  right  upstairs,  and  you  may  send  tea  to  my 
dressing-room." 

Resist  as  she  might,  endure  as  she  must,  Rill 
could  but  feel  the  graciousness  of  such  home  bring 
ing,  such  putting  of  her  in  the  carefully  considered 
place.  After  the  tea,  she  was  shown  quietly  to  her 
sleeping  chamber.  Mrs.  Rextell  kissed  her  at  the 
door.  "  I  will  leave  you  by  yourself,  dear  child," 
she  said.  "  But  Agnes  shall  look  in  by  and  by,  to 
see  if  you  need  anything." 

How  patient  they  were  with  her,  in  her  with 
drawn,  renouncing  mood  !  She  turned,  and  went 
into  the  softly  lighted  apartment.  It  was  the 
pond  lily  room. 

No  word  that  could  have  been  spoken  would 
have  said  it  to  her  like  that.  "  It  is  where  I  put 
my  very  dearest,  sweetest  young  girl  friends." 

And  all  about  her,  plainly  manifest,  shone  even 
fairer  sign  and  message,  which  she  could  not  ig 
nore  or  refuse.  In  the  "  beauty  of  the  lilies  "  it 
was  hieroglyphed  ;  no  matter  from  what  dark  ooze 
the  stems  might  spring ;  they,  blooming  into  the 
sun,  looked  up  pure  white.  Rill  took  the  blessed 
comforting  for  more  than  herself  ;  was  it  not  the 
possible  soul-blossoming  of  penitence  ?  None  the 
less,  the  lily  carries  up  its  memory  into  the  sun ;  it 
is  chained  beneath  the  waters ;  it  must  abide  in  a 


330  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

meek  solitude  ;  it  can  only  lift  itself  and  breathe 
its  sweetness  into  Heaven. 

The  next  morning  Rill  and  Miss  Haven  sat  to 
gether.  "  Dear  Miss  Haven,"  said  Rill,  "  how  long 
before  you  mean  to  lead  me  out,  and  show  me  the 
way  ?  I  cannot  stay  here,  in  the  House  Beautiful, 
you  know."  She  spoke  gently,  and  with  the 
shadow  of  a  smile  ;  yet  with  the  same  resolute 
placing  of  herself  in  her  new  attitude,  of  one  on  a 
separate,  different,  practical  plane. 

"  Dear  Rill,  how  long  do  you  mean  to  hold  out 
against  Miss  Bonable  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  holding  out.  I  cannot 
help  it  that  I  have  no  place  with  her."  The  stern 
ness  had  come  over  the  young  face  again. 

"  Rill !  If  you  let  this  thing  harden  in  your 
heart,  you  will  grow  harder  than  ever  she  did. 
For  in  her  hardness  there  has  been  no  resent 
ment." 

"  Perhaps  I  may.  That,  too,  may  be  a  part  of 
my  inheritance  —  with  the  cause  for  the  resentment 
added."  She  spoke  with  a  deliberate  coldness. 

"  Cyrilla !  This  must  be  broken  up  !  I  must 
tell  you.  You  are  strong  enough  to  bear  it  now. 
You  can  inherit  nothing  from  Miss  Bonable.  You 
have  no  right  even  to  her  faults.  You  never  had 
a  claim  upon  her.  Her  love  —  everything  she  has 
given  you  —  has  been  free  gift." 


AT  THE  CEDARS.  331 

"  I  know  I  had  no  claim.  I  did  not  belong  to 
her.  I  belonged  to  my  father  and  my  mother. 
She  was  only  my  aunt." 

"  She  was  only  your  father's  first  wife's  sister. 
Your  mother  was  no  kin  to  her  at  all." 

"  Miss  Haven  !  "  Every  bit  of  color  had  gone 
out  of  Cyrilla's  face. 

"  She  never  wanted  you  to  know." 

Cyrilla  had  leaned  forward  while  Miss  Haven 
had  been  speaking,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  across 
her  knees ;  her  expression  had  grown  fixed,  intent. 
Now  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  hypnotized  in  the 
attitude.  She  remained  motionless,  breathless,  for 
a  minute  or  more.  The  minute  felt  long  to  them 
both.  Then  a  gentle  wave  of  color  returned  to  the 
pale  face ;  the  eyes  lighted  and  softened  with  an 
expression  that  gave  itself  instantly  to  a  remem 
brance  of  great  kindness  ;  and  the  hands  reached 
out  humbly  to  Miss  Haven,  as  Cyrilla  stood  up,  a 
certain  hard-used  dignity  retained  in  her  erectness. 
"  You  are  very  good.  I  am  glad  I  know  something, 
at  last.  It  was  time.  I  must  go  away,  and  think," 
she  said. 

"  Think  as  your  thoughts  are  led,  dear  child," 
Miss  Haven  answered  her  ;  and  Rill  passed  on  into 
the  pond  lily  room. 

There  it  came  over  her,  with  its  full  significance 
and  bearing ;  with  the  new  doubt  and  question  also. 


332  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

Where  were  her  proud  protest  and  resentment, 
in  which  she  had  been  so  strong  ?  Where  was 
her  great  injury,  that  she  was  never  to  forgive  ? 
Where  was  her  independence,  e^en,  in  which  she 
could  break  loose  old  bonds  and  go  away  into  such 
new  life  as  she  should  choose  ? 

"  She  has  cared  for  me  all  these  years,  and  I  was 
nothing  to  her  !  "  Her  honest  heart  said  this,  and 
shamed  her.  "  Atn  I  even  sure  that  all  my  —  all 
the  other  —  said,  was  true  ?  This  was  falsified  ; 
why  not  that  ?  Is  there  any  one  else  on  all  the 
earth  to  whom  I  do  belong  ?  Is  there  any  likeli 
hood  that  I  can  claim,  or  take,  the  least  thing  that 
way?  If  there  were  anything,  is  it  not  all  due  to 
her,  —  Miss  Bonable  ?  Am  I  not  due,  myself,  to 
her  ?  And  yet,  if  I  am  helpless  now,  how,  for  that 
very  reason,  can  I  go  back  ?  "  It  was  all  a  seethe 
of  torturing  perplexity. 

But  at  last  it  came  to  her,  —  the  one  plain,  first 
step.  "  I  must  go  and  ask  her  to  forgive  me  —  I 
who  thought  I  could  not  forgive  her —  and  I  must 
own  my  great  debt  to  her,  and  thank  her  —  as  if 
any  thanking  could  go  back,  and  take  all  up,  and 
make  acknowledgement!  And  then  I  may  go 
away,  and  earn  my  bread." 

She  came  back  into  Miss  Haven's  room  ;  she 
had  put  on  her  cloak  and  bonnet,  and  her  warm 
furs.  The  weight  of  the  clothing  oppressed  her ; 


AT  THE  CEDARS.  333 

she  was  yet  so  weak.  She  caught  her  breath 
shortly,  and  a  strange,  trembling  fatigue  came  into 
her  limbs. 

Miss  Haven  looked  up  with  an  exclamation: 
"  Rill !  What  can  you  possibly  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  go  to  the  cottage.  I  mean  to  go 
down  on  my  knees  to  Miss  Bonable,  and  beg  her 
pardon.  Then  —  I  don't  know  yet  what  I  mean 
to  do." 

"  But  you  cannot  walk.  Mrs.  Rextell  —  Mar 
garet  —  we  might  have  the  carriage.  I  will  take 
you." 

"  I  will  not  go  in  anybody's  carriage.  I  will  not 
be  taken.  I  will  get  there,  somehow."  Even  as 
she  spoke  she  dropped  into  a  chair.  "  I  shall  be 
all  right  presently,"  she  said.  "  Or  —  perhaps  — 
if  they  would  send  for  Gates  ;  I  would  go  in  the 
depot  carriage  ;  may  be  I  must  do  that." 

"  Now,  Rill,  you  are  acting  hastily  ;  yon  are  in 
an  extreme  again.  You  must  let  us  judge  for  you, 
and  help  you.  Let  me  go  with  you  ;  you  are  unfit 
to  be  alone." 

"  I  am  not  fit  "  —  burst  from  Rill's  lips ;  and 
then  the  lips  quivered,  and  she  gathered  back  her 
willful  resolution  against  absolute  break-down.  "  If 
you  will  come  with  me  in  Oates's  carriage  —  to  the 
end  of  the  lane  —  and  let  me  go  in  alone  from 
there,"  she  said.  So  Gates  was  telephoned  for. 


334  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  You  are  quite  right  to  go  ;  and  you  shall  go  as 
you  please,"  Mrs.  Rextell  said.  "  And  you  shall 
come  back  —  or  you  shall  stay  there  —  as  you 
please,  then."  The  very  slight  emphasis  upon  the 
alternative  marked  confidence  in  Cyrilla's  complete 
reparation,  and  its  natural  method. 

Cyrilla  only  said,  gravely,  "I  have  no  right 
there." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  MOTHER." 

"  You  will  not  come  again,  Mark,  till  Cyrilla 
knows.  It  would  not  be  fair."  That  was  what 
Amy  Bonable  had  said  to  Marcus  Raye  at  the  end 
of  his  first  visit. 

"  I  will  come  when  you  send  for  me.  I  shall  be 
at  Young's  Hotel.  How  soon  will  you  tell  her  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  see  her.  If  she  does  not  come 
here  I  shall  go  to  her." 

And  that  was  the  way  it  happened  that  when 
Cyrilla  left  Miss  Haven  in  the  carriage  at  the  en 
trance  to  Brook  Lane,  and  began  with  slow,  diffi 
cult  steps  the  walk  toward  Miss  Bonable's  door, 
that  person  herself  came  at  a  brisk,  determined 
pace  around  the  winding  turn  across  the  little 
bridge,  and  met  the  prodigal. 

"Child!" 

"  Miss  Bonable  !  " 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  here  in  the  street !  You 
are  perfectly  white.  You  are  n't  fit  to  be  out. 
Oh,  Rill !  There,  hush  up  ;  come  back —  home  !  " 


336  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

and  a  strong  arm  was  reached  out,  and  a  hand 
grasped  Rill's  arm  to  help  and  lift  her,  and  then 
would  not  stop  there,  but  by  sudden  impulse  put  it 
self  around  the  girl,  and  Rill  was  drawn  close  to  the 
warm  support  of  aunt  Amelia's  furred  shoulder. 

Miss  Haven  ordered  her  driver  on  to  Crooke 
Corner. 

Within  the  cottage,  a  bright  pine-wood  fire 
burned  in  the  sitting-room.  Miss  Bonable  pulled 
a  cushioned  chair  to  the  hearth  and  set  Rill  in  it. 
"  You  're  not  to  say  a  word  till  you  've  had  a 
tumbler  of  hot  wine  whey.  And  then  —  I  've  got 
to  talk  to  you.'' 

To  make  sure  of  her  purpose,  Miss  Bonable 
whisked  from  the  room,  and  went  to  prepare  the 
wine  whey  herself.  But  when  she  came  back, 
Rill  was  on  a  low  hassock  at  the  chair-foot.  She 
put  back  the  glass  with  a  gentle,  imploring  motion. 

"  Sit  here,  please  ;  and  let  me  speak  first.  I 
could  not  swallow  unless  I  did.  I  have  been  so 
wrong.  I  have  been  so  ignorant.  I  am  so  ashamed 
and  sorry.  I  have  come  to  tell  you  so.  I  want 
you  to  forgive  me,  and  do  what  you  like  with  me. 
Only  I  wish  I  could  pay  back  something  of  all  I 
owe.  I  would  like  to  be  your  servant." 

What  became  of  the  glass  of  whey  for  the  mo 
ment,  I  am  not  sure ;  I  think  Miss  Bonable  set  it 
down  on  the  hearth.  She  seated  herself  upon  the 


"MOTHER."  337 

rug  before  Rill,  a  little  lower  yet  than  the  low  cush 
ion.  "  Rill,  I  want  you  to  forgive  me,"  she  said. 
"  You  don't  quite  know  all  what  for.  I  was  going 
to  you  to  tell  you.  You  must  forgive  everybody. 
We  must  begin  again.  Things  are  all  broken  up ; 
a  whole  piece  of  my  life  has  dropped  right  out,  and 
there  is  nothing  left  of  it  but  you.  You  must  stay  ; 
the  rest  of  it  is  cast  into  the  sea." 

Her  eyes  were  lifted  up  to  Rill's ;  they  were 
large  and  dark  —  and  soft  —  as  Rill  had  never 
seen  them  before  ;  the  tears  were  brimming  them. 

"  Dear  —  how  young  you  look  !  How  sweet  you 
are !  "  cried  Rill,  gazing  at  the  miracle  of  the 
woman  gone  back  across  that  hard,  abolished  piece 
of  her  life  to  the  lovely  time  and  self  that  had  been 
before.  Rill  had  paused  for  a  name,  before  she 
could  speak  at  all ;  then  that  "  dear "  came  and 
uttered  itself.  The  two  put  their  arms  about  each 
other's  neck,  and  kissed  each  other. 

There  is  nothing  so  tender  as  repentance.  To 
be  forgiven  is  to  love ;  more  than  with  no  need 
of  repentance.  That  is  why  God  lets  wrong  and 
mistake  be  possible  to  us ;  that  this  most  blessed 
thing  may  be  possible  also. 

After  that,  the  long  story  of  explanation  could 
.wait  a  little.  Somehow,  they  both  knew,  and  it 
was  scarcely  needed.  Miss  Bonable  made  Cyrilla 
drink  the  wine  whey. 


338  A   GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  Now,  can  you  bear  to  hear  a  new,  strange 
thing?  It  is  what  I  have  got  to  tell  you,  before  it 
comes  and  tells  itself.  Cyrilla,  your  father  has 
come  back.  He  is  waiting  to  know  that  he  can  see 
you.  Pie  will  be  here  to-night." 

Cyrilla  looked  in  the  sweet,  changed  face,  and 
divined  what  had  so  transfigured  it.  It  was  a 
human  heart  that  had  come  to  its  own  again  ;  as 
out  of  age  and  pain  and  separation  hearts  enter 
paradise. 

When  Miss  Haven  came  back  from  Crooke  Cor 
ner  and  stopped  at  the  cottage,  Miss  Bonable  met 
her  at  the  door.  "  Will  you  send  this  down  to  the 
noon  mail,  sure  ?  It  is  all  right,"  she  said.  And 
again  Miss  Haven  drove  away. 

Cyrilla  was  sent  up  to  her  own  little  east  room 
to  sleep  and  rest.  The  afternoon  wore  quietly 
away  :  the  early  sunset  came,  and  the  east  room 
was  dim,  with  only  reflected  lights.  But  far  over 
toward  the  new  sunrising  that  would  be  to-morrow, 
was  the  rosy  glow  in  which  to-day  went  down. 

In  the  twilight  she  arose  and  ordered  her  dress 
and  her  hair.  How  strange  it  was  to  be  going 
down  to  —  aunt  Amelia  ?  What  name  should  she 
call  Miss  Bonable  by,  now  ?  It  must  be  a  name 
of  love,  and  not  of  cold  constraint ;  but  it  could 
not  be  —  she  did  not  wish  it  to  be  —  the  name  she 
had  known  her  by  through  all  their  misknowing. 


"MOTHER."  339 

While  she  stood  and  thought  of  this,  she  heard 
the  door  open,  and  the  firm  entering  tread  of  a  man. 

There  were  low  voices  down  beneath,  in  the  little 
sitting-room.  She  could  hear  the  fresh  fire  crackle 
in  the  chimney.  Her  father  was  there ;  she  must 
go  to  him  —  to  them. 

Slowly  she  passed  down  the  stairway.  It  was 
not  a  thing  to  hurry  to,  eagerly  ;  it  was  a  strange, 
solemn  meeting  and  making  known ;  when  she 
opened  the  door,  the  two  figures  stood  there  by  the 
hearth,  waiting.  Both  turned  ;  the  man's  hands 
were  held  out.  "  Are  you  my  little  daughter  ?  " 
he  said. 

Cyrilla  came  up  with  a  shy  womanly  dignity  in 
her  face ;  she  had  been  deprived  of  her  "  little- 
daughter  "-hood ;  she  could  not  go  right  back  into 
that.  "  I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  pathetically,  put 
ting  her  own  hands  in  his.  "  But  oh,  I  ought  to 
have  known  you  all  these  years !  " 

"  You  must  forgive  us  both.  We  thought  of 
you.  It  seemed  the  best.  There  were  many  things 
that  could  not  be  quite  explained ;  there  were 
things  to  guard  you  from." 

"  I  know.  And  I  have  been  hard  to  guard.  But, 
indeed,  I  was  not  so  much  to  be  —  afraid  of." 

"  That  was  my  mistake,"  said  Miss  Bonable. 
"  And  I  am  sorry.  But  you  shall  know  everything 
now  that  you  have  a  right  to." 


340  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

"  I  do  know.  And  I  think  we  will  put  it  all 
away." 

Marcus  Raye  looked  at  the  girl  as  she  spoke, 
with  a  wondering  pleasure  in  his  heart,  at  her 
sweet,  frank  nobleness.  "  You  are  like  my  mother, 
Rill,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  don't  know  all.  And  it  should  not 
be  kept  back  a  minute  longer.  Mark,  tell  her." 
Miss  Bonable  came  to  Marcus  Raye's  side  as  she 
spoke,  and  put  one  hand  in  his,  while  she  laid  the 
other  on  Cyrilla's  shoulder. 

Cyrilla  lifted  her  eyes  quickly,  and  flashed  a  look 
at  each  as  they  stood  there.  "It  does  n't  need  tell 
ing,"  she  said.  "It  is  good.  I  am  glad,  I  am 
glad  "  —  and  her  voice  took  a  tender,  happy  ring 
in  it  —  "  that  I  shall  have  a  real,  true  name  to  call 
you  by,  —  Mother  !  " 

In  that  instant  she  gave  all.  Miss  Bonable  let 
go  the  father's  hand,  and  folded  her  arms  about 
the  daughter,  and  held  her  close. 

"  Will  you  go  to  the  other  side  of  the  world  with 
us,  Rill  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Raye,  a  minute  later. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  if  it  is  beyond  the  world  ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

CONNIE'S  ASTONISHMENT. 

THE  coming  home  of  a  rich  Australian  father  to 
a  girl  who  had  not  been  supposed  to  have  any  fa 
ther  at  all,  was  a  great  windfall  to  Wewachet.  It 
was  much  more  than  a  windfall ;  it  was  the  drop 
ping  into  their  midst  of  a  wonderful,  magnificent 
aerolite.  They  gathered  round  the  great  phenome 
non  with  all  their  little  hammers.  They  tried  to 
chip  it  here  and  there  ;  to  get  off  crumbs  and  cor 
ners,  that  should  seem  to  multiply  its  contents  and 
significance.  But  they  did  not  get  at  the  heart  of 
it,  with  all  their  tapping ;  until  Miss  Haven  was 
duly  authorized  to  disclose  it  in  such  a  way  as  she 
pleased. 

Connie  Norris  came  over,  one  day,  to  Crooke 
Corner.  She  had  something  on  her  mind.  She  had 
promised  George  Craigan  to  give  him  a  clear, 
final  answer  that  evening.  Somehow,  she  felt  as 
if  Miss  Haven  could  help  her  ;  could  counsel  her, 
or  give  her  light.  Miss  Haven  held  the  threads  of 
things  in  Wewachet.  Perhaps  she  could  say  some- 


342  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

thing  to  her,  even  indirectly,  which  would  settle 
her  mind  upon  contingent  and  still  anxious  points. 

She  found  Dr.  Harriman  there.  Would  this 
help  or  hinder  ?  She  began  to  think  how  she 
could  approach  her  matter  without  a  too  plain 
speaking.  It  was  a  chance,  undoubtedly.  Over 
Miss  Haven's  shoulder  she  could  hint  a  need,  a 
worry,  that  might  make  oblique  appeal  to  Dr. 
Harriman. 

But  Miss  Haven  had  her  news  to  tell.  She  had 
already  given  it  to  the  doctor.  "  Do  you  know 
there  is  an  engagement  out  ?  "  she  asked  Cornelia. 

"  No,  —  where  ?  "  responded  Connie,  quickly  ; 
the  mistrust  striking  her  that  her  own  decision 
might,  Wewachet-fashion,  have  been  forestalled. 
She  did  not  pause  to  consider  that  it  would  not 
have  been  Miss  Haven's  fashion  to  force  the  ac 
knowledgment  in  this  way. 

"  In  Brook  Lane,"  said  Miss  Haven,  smiling ; 
and  Connie  saw  what  she  thought  a  conscious  an 
swering  smile  upon  Dr.  Harriman's  face.  She  did 
not  consider  the  fashion  of  this  announcement, 
either.  Nothing  is  inconsistent  to  an  intense  pre 
possession. 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  said  hastily,  "  I  hope  every 
body  will  be  very  happy.  I  ought  to  hope  so,  for 
I  am  in  the  category  myself.  I  came  to  tell  you  " 
—  the  sudden  adaptation  of  her  errand  slipped  into 


CONNIE'S  ASTONISHMENT.  343 

a  fib  —  "I  am  going  to  be  married  to  Mr.  George 
Craigan." 

Instantly  they  both  shook  hands  with  her,  offer 
ing  hearty  congratulations.  Her  little  victory  was 
over.  The  defeat  remained. 

"  But  I  have  not  told  you,"  said  Miss  Haven, 
when  they  had  given  due  time  and  words  to  the 
interpolated  tidings.  "You  will  like  to  know.  It 
is  a  beautiful  old  story.  It  is  Mr.  Raye  who  is  to 
marry  Miss  Bonable.  They  cared  for  each  other 
a  great  while  ago,  but  it  was  given  up.  Rill  is 
very  happy." 

Connie  did'her  best ;  she  was  as  much  astonished 
as  she  need  be ;  the  quality  of  her  astonishment 
was  only  fully  known  to  herself. 

She  had  committed  herself.  That  evening  she 
gave  her  answer  to  George  Craigan.  She  took  her 
satisfactions,  such  as  they  were,  as  such  brides  do. 

"  I  mean  to  be  married  in  church,"  she  told  Sue 
Wilder.  "  It  's  a  great  deal  better  fun.  And 
I  'm  going  to  Washington.  I  shall  see  Mrs. 
Cleveland.  You  know  they  say  I  look  like  her. 
Mr.  Craigan  is  going  to  build  for  us.  And,  oh, 
Sue !  I.  mean  to  have  such  a  lovely  morning- 
room  ! " 

"  I  hope  you  find  Mr.  George  Craigan  of  use  to 
you  in  your  plans,"  said  Sue,  with  sudden  sarcasm. 

Connie  stared.     "  What   do  you   mean  ?  "    she 


344  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

cried.  She  understood  the  allusion  well  enough, 
but  she  could  not  comprehend  it  from  Sue  Wilder. 

Sue  was  simply  disenchanted  and  indignant. 
She  had  put  heart  and  faith  in  her  friend's  other 
romance.  She  had  thought  George  Craigan  was 
the  "  obstacle."  She  had  meekly  admired  and 
idealized  as  she  was  bid.  Now  this  was  too  much. 

There  was  something  to  be  and  to  come,  both  in 
and  for  Sue  Wilder,  better  than  following  in  the 
wake  of  Connie  Norris's  fantasies  and  flirtations. 

"  Sue  has  grown  into  Susan,"  Rill  said  of  her 
afterward,  upon  an  occasion.  "  And  Susan  is  sweet 
and  sober,  and  strong  and  womanly." 

It  was  long  afterward,  when  much  in  circum 
stance  and  event  had  taken  fixed  and  accepted 
place.  She  said  it  to  Dr.  Harriman,  the  strength 
of  whose  finer  character  had  asserted  itself  in  the 
rare  achievement  of  gradually  replacing  a  disap 
pointed  selfishness  of  love  with  a  high  generosity 
of  friendship. 

Rill  Raye  had  revealed  him  to  himself.  She  had 
given  him  better  than  her  love.  The  magnanimity 
in  him,  that  she  had  compelled  by  her  confident 
demand,  discovered  itself  to  him  as  a  capacity  from 
which  it  was  a  gladness  to  act,  whatever,  like  the 
swift  athletes  of  old,  he  might  have  to  cast  away 
in  the  noble  urgency  of  pressing  onward  to  his 
higher  mark. 


CONNIE'S  ASTONISHMENT.  345 

The  reader  may,  if  she  pleases,  construct  a  pos 
sible  side  sequel  from  this  influence  and  bearing, 
which  my  story  has  not  space  for.  I  will  neither 
affirm  nor  overthrow  her  conclusion.  It  shall  be 
as  she  likes  best. 

Miss  Haven  began  to  think  she  had  undertaken 
a  good  deal.  Now,  she  had  Putnam  King  upon 
her  hands.  She  wrote  to  him  every  word  of  what 
had  happened.  Of  course,  Putnam  came,  at  the 
earliest  practicable  moment,  to  "Wewachet. 

"  It  is  not  possible  she  will  do  that !  "  he  ex 
claimed,  when  aunt  Elizabeth  told  him  of  the  plan 
of  going  to  Adelaide.  For  the  moment,  he  almost 
beiieved  that  he  had  believed  in  a  delusion. 

"  I  told  you  she  would  burn  and  drown,  in  her 
own  heart,  for  those  she  cared  for.  It  is  high  sac 
rifice.  So  high,  that  it  is  glad.  It  is  for  you,  as 
much  as  for  them.  If  she  thinks  of  anything  else, 
she  believes  that  it  would  wrong  you." 

"  There  is  simply  but  one  thing  to  be  done,  and 
I  shall  go  straight  and  do  it." 

"  Go  to  her  father,  then ;  it  is  your  only 
chance." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"OUGHT    I?" 

"You  ask  a  great  deal  of  me,"  said  Marcus 
Raye.  "  But  I  will  tell  her.  I  will  even  urge  the 
cause.  It  will  need  urging,  for  her  scruples  of 
right,  and  her  sense  of  present  dut}r,  will  be  strong. 
I  have  known  Rill  but  a  little  while,  but  I  know 
her  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  the  more  her  o*\vn 
wish  pleads  for  you,  the  more  she  will  refuse." 

"  I  must  leave  it  with  you  —  now,"  said  Putnam 
King.  "  But  I  shall  not  leave  it  with  you  finally. 
I  shall  speak  for  myself." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Marcus  Raye.  "  I  can  even 
hope  you  may  succeed."  And  he  gave  the  young 
man  a  well-pleased  smile,  and  a  hearty  grasp  of 
the  hand. 

"  We  shall  have  to  give  her  up,"  the  father  said 
to  his  promised  wife.  "  We  shall  have  to  do  more  ; 
we  must  even  push  her  out  of  the  new  nest." 

Rill  said  her  determined  nay,  at  the  first  word. 
It  was  so  determined,  that  it  was  easy  to  see  it  was 
against  herself. 


"OUGHT  I?"  347 

"  You  have  no  right,  if  you  care  for  him.  If 
you  have  entered  into  his  life,  you  belong  there, 
and  must  stay." 

"  But,  father,  —  even  if  all  the  rest  were  right 
and  easy,  how  could  I  ?  It  is  hard  to  say  it  to 
you,  —  but  I  am  her  child.  Ought  I  to  hold  my 
self  "  —  she  could  not  utter  the  rest. 

Then  Marcus  Raye  spoke  out  of  the  depth  of 
his  full-grown,  manly  nature.  "  You  are  the  child 
of  humanity.  Its  possibilities  are  all  in  you. 
They  have  come  through  many  channels.  No  one 
can  trace  all  his  own  antecedents.  She  —  when 
she  was  your  mother  —  with  whatever  faults,  was 
at  her  brightest  and  sweetest.  She  was  gay  and 
loving.  You  are  like  her  in  that.  You  are  born 
of  the  best  of  her.  Her  sin  was  weakness ;  you 
are  strong.  Live  for  your  mother,  Rill ;  live  out 
the  other  nature  of  her,  from  which  she  took  the 
mistaken  turn.  She  is  turned  back  to  it  now,  we 
will  believe.  And  you  are  my  child,  Rill ;  and  so, 
my  mother's,  who  was  the  grandest  woman  I  ever 
knew." 

"  No  one  but  my  father  could  have  persuaded 
me.  No,  not  you,  Putnam.  I  should  have  re 
sisted  you  for  the  love  of  you.  Nothing  could 
have  assured  me  but  being  his  child.  If  he  had 
not  come  home,  nothing  would  have  been  mended." 


348  A  GOLDEN  GOSSIP. 

And  nobody  knew  the  hand  the  Golden  Gossip 
had  had  in  that. 

Beautiful  upon  the  hard  places  of  the  earth  are 
the  feet  of  one  who  bringeth  good  tidings;  who 
publisheth  peace. 


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